


On Soulmate Theory

by gth694e



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Dance Party, Betty needs a hug, Bruce Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Clint Needs a Hug, F/M, Frigga is a great mom, I learned how to end stories from Keiron Gillen, Jane is a very serious scientist, Jane uses the internet, Jarvis knows everything, Kid Thor, M/M, Multi, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha and Clint are very good dancers, Non-Sequential Storytelling, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Needs a Hug, Thor Feels, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, even as a teen, except for the whole soulmate thing, like a lot, so basically....Avengers Dance Party, teenage Jane, the Avengers are all dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the first words your soulmate will ever speak to you are written on your left wrist, you would think finding your true love would be easy. </p><p>A study on how the different Avengers met their soulmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abstract

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not exist without the help of concertigrossi, who listened to me babble about soulmates for ages, and coriolana, who beta'd this fic. Both of them were instrumental in this fic, and it is so much better because they were involved. That said, all mistakes are my own and solely my fault and probably included against their better judgement. 
> 
> My goal is to update this fic every other day, but life happens which may cause delays. The fic is complete but with the upcoming holiday and a work trip I have it may cause some irregularity in the posting schedule.

_The phenomenon of soulmates is one of nature’s least understood wonders. The subject is often considered taboo—rife with religious and spiritual implications—and at the very least is considered immensely personal. And yet this phenomenon affects every single human on this planet._

_Despite the delicacy of the subject, it is something that_ must _be discussed, because a lack of understanding only leads to disappointment and dismay over a popularly-understood ideal  which differs significantly from the actual experiences of human beings in (and out) of love._

**An Abandoned Cabin, Russia, 2014**

The file spread across the table revealed every secret of Natasha Romanoff’s life.

It was all online now, which was her own fault. It might have been Fury’s plan, but Natasha was the one who took down the firewalls. Fury and Pierce gave the permissions, but Natasha pressed the button. Every report written and piece of intel gathered was online for the entire world to see, including her file, and it was no one’s fault but her own.

She had anticipated that she would need to go to ground. She’d printed a copy of her file, so she would know what sins the Congressional sub-committees might resurrect to damn her with. She hadn’t thought she would learn something about herself, that SHIELD might know something she didn’t.

Natasha absently rubbed her left wrist, massaging the burn scars that had been there for as long as she could remember. She didn’t remember being burned, not anymore; that memory was long lost in the sea of childhood traumas visited on her by the Red Room. They didn’t want their operatives knowing the Words their soulmate might one day say. A true comrade did not need a soulmate, only Mother Russia.

With her Words lost before Natasha had even learned to read, she had long given up on discovering her soulmate. The purpose SHIELD had given her and the trust she'd found with Clint and Phil—that was happiness enough.

In the end, she supposed it was too good to be true.

“You should not be here.” He spoke in flawless Russian, like it was the only tongue he had ever known. She now knew that to be a lie as well.

It should not have surprised her that in the life of a liar nothing turned out to be true.

She did not turn to look at him. Instead, she stared at one image from her file, an image she had not known SHIELD possessed, an image they had kept from her.

Had Phil known? Had he kept this from her too?

“You once told me to trust no one,” Natasha said. She reached out and ran her fingers across the neat, black Words in the photo. “You were right.”

He did not respond. Instead he sat down at the table across from her, finally coming into her view.

The Winter Soldier was many things, but above all else, he was beautiful. He had the tightly coiled strength of a jungle cat, a strength he could never quite hide behind a relaxed saunter and casual lounging.

“An asset cannot afford to trust,” the Soldier agreed. He reached out with his flesh arm, his fingers skimming across a photo of Natasha laughing with Clint and Steve, all three of them dressed in their SHIELD uniforms. She remembered that picture. Phil had taken it with a goofy smile on his face.

Clint had teased him. “Taking a picture of your idol?”

“No,” Phil had answered. “My family.”

Natasha had believed that. On some level, she’d believed they were family.

Now, as she pressed her fingers into the black Words that had been written on her wrist, the words she'd never seen until now, she didn’t know what to believe.

“I was a child once.”

Natasha looked up, startled by the Winter Soldier’s words. The Soldier spoke sparingly, using the fewest words to get his point across—so different from Clint and his ever-present chatter.

“We were all children once,” Natasha said after a moment, when it seemed he was going to say no more without prompting.

The Soldier still stared at the photo of Natasha, Clint, and Steve, his fingers tracing Steve’s image. The Soldier’s brow was contorted in an expression that Natasha could only describe as lost, though the thought made her uneasy.

He had been one of the few steady things in her life with the Red Room. His teachings had been the foundation on which her life had been built. What did it mean if her foundation was lost?

“I did not remember,” the Soldier finally said.

“But now you do?”

“I remember…” His fingers paused on Steve’s face.

Suddenly his metal arm pinned her hand to the table, pressing it into the image she was touching. His blue eyes flamed with belief, and Natasha could not move under the power of that gaze.

“I remember what I taught you,” he said. “Trust no one. Love is for children.”

Natasha could not look away. She could not even nod. Not from the eyes that had watched her over the decades, not from the eyes that knew her every strength and weakness.

The Winter Soldier lifted his hand, and Natasha instinctually pulled her hand back to herself. The Soldier picked up the image she had been obsessing over, the image she had not known existed.

He stared at it, and Natasha knew what he saw: the underside of a young child’s wrist, with two distinct phrases written in neat English cursive.

“It is a fortunate person who has two soulmates,” the Soldier said. It took all of Natasha’s self-control not to snatch the photo from his hands. It would have been futile to even try. He’d always been faster than her.

Natasha did not want to talk about the photo, so instead she asked, “Did you have a soulmate?”

The Soldier set the photo down, sliding it across the table towards her. Natasha kept her hands still in her lap and her eyes on him.

His right hand touched the photo of Steve again, and she wondered if he knew he was doing it. “Not everyone has a soulmate.”

Natasha’s eyes drifted to his metal arm. Had the Red Room taken his Words as they had taken hers? Did he remember his? Or had he never had Words at all?

“Natalia,” he said, and Natasha’s eyes leapt back to his face. He leaned across the table, pressing his flesh hand flat against the photo of Steve. “If I had a soulmate, nothing in heaven or earth could keep me from him.”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned by the sincerity of his voice and the truth he just admitted.

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered finally.

The Winter Soldier sat back in his seat. “It rarely ever is.” He paused. “I told you not to trust. I told you not to love, and for assets that is good advice. But…” He paused again, narrowing his eyes as if making sure he had her attention, “I was wrong. We are not assets. We are people.”

It was not the first time the Winter Soldier had admitted to her that he was wrong. He had never been like other men, wrapped up in pride and vanity. The Soldier operated on facts and had never hesitated to correct even himself. Natasha had always respected that about him.

But this…this was different. The foundation of her life crumbled beneath her feet. There was no solid ground. Nothing was what she thought it was.

And yet if the Soldier could change, than the Widow could too.

Silence descended. Natasha sat still while the Winter Soldier’s fingers played across the image of Captain America, both lost in their own thoughts.

The Soldier had never in her life intentionally steered her wrong. He had tried to kill her, but who hadn’t?

 _Phil_ , a voice whispered in her head.

Natasha shook the thought away and said instead, “He misses you.”

The Soldier’s shoulders bowed, as if under a great weight, his head dropping down and his dark hair falling in front of his face. His breath came raggedly, his broad shoulders shook, and fear shot through Natasha’s heart.

She had seen the Soldier in many situations, bleeding out and yet carrying on as if it was nothing more than a flesh wound, torn apart and yet still somehow managing to move, but she had never seen him broken, not like this.

When the Soldier finally looked back up, his face was a mask of stone, betraying nothing. The man stood, stepping away from the table.

“I am not his to miss. I never was.”

The Soldier walked out of the house without looking back. Natasha knew it was unlikely she would see him again. That she had found him this time was because he had let her.

Natasha reached out and took the image of the wrist again, reading over the Words. The Soldier had been much in her life: a teacher, a guardian, an enemy, and a brother, but he had not ever been her soulmate.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the Words, trying not to remember a man with an absurd weapon who held his hands up in surrender and said, “ _I’m not here to kill you_.”

She hadn’t known. How could she? No one could blame her.

But he must have known.

And for that, she wasn’t sure she could forgive him.

***

_In this paper, we seek to discuss soulmate theory in full, setting aside the confusion and mysticism that so often surrounds the subject. From its most commonly experienced features to its rarest examples, no aspect of soulmate theory will be left undiscussed, even if it leads to the most existential of questions._


	2. Basic Theory

_At its most basic, soulmate theory is simple. Most humans have a soulmate. From the moment they are born—whether or not their soulmate has yet been born—the first Words their soulmate will speak to them are written on the inside of their left wrist._

_Identifying a soulmate is a lock and key process. Someone may say the Words on your wrist, but that does not make them your soulmate unless your Words are on their wrist. So a man’s Words might be “Lovely weather we’re having” and these might be the words complete strangers speak to him on a daily basis. But unless one of those strangers has his response on their wrist, none of them are his soulmate._

_This makes soulmate theory seem like it should be simple, a mere exchange of words that can be recognized and verified on a pair of wrists._

**A Diner in the Middle of Nowhere, USA 1992**

Clint slid into a booth at the diner. A waitress walked by with a plate of meatloaf and mac’n’cheese, and fuck, it smelled like heaven. Clint’s stomach grumbled loudly.

The waitress flashed a smile in his direction. “Be with you in a sec, honey,” she said, then placed the plate on the table of the next booth down.

Clint slouched into his seat without bothering to look at the menu. He couldn’t afford anything here. Not today. He’d just wanted to escape the biting cold and maybe con the waitress into giving him a free cup of coffee.

God, he was so tired.

Not the kind of tired that caffeine could solve. No, it was the kind of tired that made him feel forty instead of twenty, that made him want to lie down on the ground, wherever he was, and stop. Stop running, stop trying.

But doing that was tantamount to suicide, so Clint kept going. He kept running even though he had no place to run to. He just needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Anything had to be better than his life now.

Clint rubbed his left wrist, where two distinctly different statements were written in black cursive. Two soulmates. Two soulmates was supposed to mean he was blessed or some shit. Not….this.

“Alright, honey, what will you have?” The waitress stopped at his table smiling down at him.

Clint immediately straightened, turning on his best smile. He opened his mouth, intending to flirt, when a cool voice cut in, “He’ll have the meatloaf and mac’n’cheese, with a cup of coffee and a tall glass of water. I’ll have two eggs scrambled, pancakes, bacon, coffee, and a small glass of milk.”

The waitress smiled at the man who had spoken. He had just come in the door and was removing his snow-flecked pea coat to reveal a fancy suit, completely out of place at a 24/7 diner at 2 am.  “Coming right up,” she said.

Clint watched the man approach, heart hammering. The guy didn’t look like he had a gun on him, but the best killers never looked threatening. Clint should run. He should leap from the table, push past him, and out the door into the blizzard without looking back.

Except…he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full meal. And it was so cold outside and his jacket had holes in it, and fuck it all, maybe this man had come to kill him, and he really couldn’t bring himself to care. Not as long as he got to eat first.

“What do you want?” Clint demanded as the man folded his coat into a neat, square bundle and placed it on the bench seat opposite Clint.

The suit’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he slid into the seat and said, “To offer you a chance, Mr. Barton.”

Clint stared at him, his right hand instinctually rubbing his left wrist. He was going to throw up what little he had in his stomach. “Who told you to say that?”

The suit frowned slightly. “Excuse me?”

“It was Trickshot, wasn’t it?” Clint asked, his mind going through the list of people who knew. Barney. Trickshot. The Swordsman. The Bearded Lady, but hell, if the Bearded Lady was after him, he’d done messed up bad. Trickshot was the one who made the most sense. The one who wanted him back.

But how the hell had anyone in the circus managed to hire such a clean-cut looking suit?

“You come in here, knowing my name, knowing what my…” He choked on the words, not saying it, his right hand holding tight to his left wrist.

The suit’s eyes flickered down, to Clint’s left wrist, and then his eyes widened with dawning realization. He opened up his mouth as if to speak and then his mouth snapped closed with a little shake of his head. Finally he looked up, met Clint’s eyes, and said, “No one told me. Mr. Barton, am I to believe that your left wrist says, ‘To offer you a chance, Mr. Barton.’”

“Among other things, but you already know that,” Clint retorted. “Look, just let me eat before you haul me away to whatever doom I’ve got coming, okay? The Swordsman will never forgive you if I keel over from hunger on my way to be tortured to death.” It had to be the Swordsman, if it wasn’t Trickshot. Or was this his…? He cut the thought short. He wouldn’t even think about it.

The suit stared at him wordlessly, his blue eyes wide. Clint was too tired to contemplate what that meant. Too tired, too hungry, and if this was his end, so be it.

He was giving up.

“Here’s your coffee, boys.” The waitress came back to the table, setting down a large carafe and two cups. She slid a glass of water in front of Clint and a small glass of milk in front of the stranger. “Won’t be much longer til your dinners are out.”

“Thank you,” the suit said, but his eyes never left Clint.

Clint just nodded his thanks, grabbing the carafe and pouring himself a cup.

That seemed to snap the suit out of whatever was going through his mind. “Do you know what my left wrist says?”

“Bro, I don’t know you from Adam,” Clint snapped. “And I don’t give a fuck what your wrist says.”

“It says,” the man continued, as if he hadn’t heard Clint, “’What do you want?’”

Clint choked on his coffee.

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” Clint said when he finished coughing.

The suit shook his head. In a move whose grace caught Clint by surprise, he slipped out of his jacket without leaving the booth, then removed his left cufflink. “I most certainly am not,” he said, then pushed his sleeve up roughly, wrinkling it. He held out his arm, exposing pale skin and the black words written on his wrist.

There were two different questions on his wrist, just like there were two different statements on Clint’s. The first was indeed “What do you want?” while the second was “Are you going to eat that?”

Clint couldn’t help himself. He reached out and lightly traced his fingers over the words. “You have two soulmates too?”

The man shivered and closed his eyes, his head bowing down for a moment as if Clint’s fingers on his wrist were some sort of benediction. Then he looked back up, his gaze locking onto Clint, and spoke in a tone Clint could only describe as earnest. “My name is Phil. Phil Coulson. I work for an organization called SHIELD that sent me here to bring you in, but…Barton, I just want you to know that though I think you’d be a fantastic asset, if that’s not what you want—if that’s not what you need right now—I’ll help you get wherever it is you need to be. Whether that’s with me or not.”

Clint looked up, catching the other man’s earnest gaze. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” the man—Phil—said.

Later Clint would blame his tears on the fact that he was cold, tired, and hungry, and not because it was the first time in his life someone had stopped to consider what Clint might want to do.


	3. The Rush

_And yet few people dream of a bland exchange of words. A rational and logical approach is not nearly romantic enough._

_Hollywood would have us believe that soulmates are identified not just by words but with a rush of feelings, an instantaneous connection and bond that transcends words. Most people when asked will give such a tale of their first meeting, professing love at first sight and not merely at the Words._

_Numerous studies reveal that at least half those people will confess to a more mundane story when pressed, but for the other half,  meeting one's soulmate involves a physical and psychological rush.  Metaphysicists propose that this “rush” is caused by two halves of the same soul locking into completion._

**Culver University, 2002**

Bruce Banner stopped by the coffee shop on his way into work. He could have waited until he got to the lab, but the sludge the grad students made barely counted as a beverage.

Coffee should not be viscous.

The barista recognized him as he walked in and started on his drink. A few dollar bills and a smile later, and Bruce had a cup of life-giving caffeine in his hand.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent.

“Thanks, Tammy,” he said to the barista.

“Not a problem, Dr. Banner!” she responded cheerfully and then her attention went back to her next order.

Bruce headed out, stopping at the door to hold it open for a student who looked like he hadn’t slept in five days.

“Thank you,” the young man said without so much as a glance up at him, and Bruce stiffened, his grip tightening on the door.

_Thank you._

His heart stuttered every time he heard those two words. Such an incredibly common and mundane phrase. It was one he heard on a daily basis—as well as the phrase written on his left wrist, the first Words his soulmate would ever say to him.

Bruce stepped out of the coffee shop without saying anything back to the boy, who was most certainly not his soulmate.

They never were.

When he was young, he had taken comfort in the fact that his soulmate was thanking him. He chose to believe that meant he grew up to be kind or at least polite, and, most importantly, nothing like his father. But as time went by, he hated the bland words more and more.

 _Thank you._ He'd heard it dozens of times a day when he worked for a fast food joint in high school. Again and again from the students he tutored  in college and grad school. On a daily basis by people he was simply polite to.

With words like “thank you,” his soulmate could be anyone. And with his luck, it was likely to be no one.

No. Self-pity did not become him. Bruce jerked himself out of his bleak thoughts as he scaled the steps of his building, using his free hand to pull out his badge. He needed to be productive today, to work on the paper for his next conference. He didn’t have time to wallow.

“Morning, Bruce,” a grad student greeted him as he stepped into the lab.

Bruce smiled in response but didn’t stop to talk, instead making his way to his office.

More students greeted him as he made his way through the undergrad work spaces and the grad student cubicles. Bruce smiled back at them all, though the more who said good morning to him the more puzzled he became.

It was 8:30 am on a Monday. The lab was never this busy on Monday. Something had to be going on, some memo or email from the professor in charge that Bruce had missed.

Bruce gave a mental shrug. If it was important, someone would come get him.

Once at his desk, Bruce began his morning routine: going through the papers put into his inbox, checking his email, and then listening to his voicemail. Nothing too exciting, except apparently a new post-doc was starting in the lab today: Dr. Ross. Well, that explained why everyone was here. A new employee usually meant the professor was taking everyone out to lunch—but only those he saw working diligently.

Bruce was halfway through his paper when someone knocked at his door. “Dr. Banner.” Bruce recognized the voice of one of his grad students. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Ross, the new post-doc…”

“Welcome to the lab, Dr. Ross,” Bruce said as he turned. He was halfway out of his chair when he saw the new employee.

Gleaming black hair pulled into a loose bun that he wanted to tangle his fingers in, red lips with just the right amount of pout that he could easily imagine running his tongue across, and blue eyes so deep and dark that he knew he would be lost in.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

And they were the most beautiful words he’d ever heard.


	4. Delayed Recognition

_The most common misconception of soulmate theory is that a soulmate will always be initially recognized—through either logic or the rush of feeling. However, this is not the case._

_The primary tenet of soulmate theory is that the words on a person’s left wrist represent the first words spoken directly to that person by their soulmate. But not everyone meets their soulmate in a_ tête-à-tête _. Not everyone actually hears their soulmate say the words they’ve been waiting for their entire lives. And people can move around each other for years, not realizing that this person who somehow became a constant in their life is actually the person their soul was designed for._

**Stark Expo, California, 2010**

“You lose,” Vanko said.

The power source on the drones’ chests began to flash and beep. Rhodey shouted the obvious—that they were rigged to blow—but Tony was already moving.

_Oh God, Pepper. No. I can’t lose Pepper. Not like this. Please God, not like this._

She screamed as he grabbed her. Tony held her as tight as he could without crushing her, his grip tightening a fraction too much as the drones exploded behind them. The fact that she was still screaming told him she was alive. And really, that was all that mattered.

Tony dropped them on a roof, and she began to babble.

“Oh my God, I can’t take this anymore. My body literally cannot handle the stress.” Her pale hands flailed. She kept talking, but Tony was distracted by the fact that she was here and alive and healthy. Pepper wasn’t dead.

 _This isn’t how I lose her_ , he thought with relief, and then she uttered the words, “I quit. I’m resigning. That’s it.”

“What did you just say? You’re done. That’s surprising,” Tony said, but no, it really wasn’t. He had a phrase written on the inside of his left wrist that said it wasn’t. _She was always going to leave me_ , he reminded himself. “No. It’s not surprising. That’s okay. You don’t have to make any excuses.”

She protested his word choice, but he kept talking. “You deserve better. You’ve taken such good care of me. I’ve been in a tough spot and you got me through it.”

The tension left Pepper’s body as she said, “Thank you. Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tony said. If he hadn’t been in the suit he would have shrugged. Of course he understood. He had always understood. She was always going to leave him.

He had thought he had gotten around that by making her the CEO. He thought for a brief shining moment, _This is what my Words mean. She doesn’t have to leave me forever or quit. She can just move on to a new position._

But no. When had things ever worked out in Tony’s favor when it came to his personal life?

“Let’s talk clean up,” he said, because this he could do. Hide his emotions in the business. It’s what he always did.

“I’ll handle the transition,” she said, nodding.

Tony babbled something about the press, but he really wasn’t paying attention. Instead he studied her, trying to memorize everything: the way the fires reflected in her strawberry blonde hair—hair he’d always wanted to touch to see how soft it was. The way talking business calmed her,  even though moments before she had been freaking out. Pepper had always been so competent. It’s what allowed her to put up with him for the past ten years.

This was it. She was going to leave him, and he would never see her again.

 _To hell with it_ , Tony thought. He finally had nothing to lose, so he reached out with his armored hands, took hold of her like he had always yearned to, and kissed her.

She tasted like lipstick and Altoids, and as in everything, she was thorough and competent. Tony wished he wasn’t wearing his armor, wished he could feel how her body molded to his, but mostly he just thought about the softness of her lips and how perfect she was. How he wished he had been doing this since the day he met her.

 _Oh God, what am I doing? Kissing a person who is not your soulmate shouldn’t feel this good._ He pulled back, stopping the kiss, and said, “Weird?”

Of course it was weird, who was he kidding. She was trying to quit, trying to leave him, and here he was making the moves on her like she was some other meaningless girl.

He didn’t want her to think that. Pepper had always been so far from meaningless.

“No, it’s not weird,” she said, and Tony’s heart clenched.

“It’s okay, right?” he asked, searching her eyes, checking for any hint that she was freaking out and just afraid to show it.

But no, she looked happy and pleased and beautiful and perfect.

“I think it’s weird,” Rhodey interrupted, and Tony turned to snark at his best friend without letting go of Pepper.

He was never going to let go of her again. Soulmate or not.

 

**Stark's House, an hour later**

Pepper watched as the bots pulled Tony free of his Iron Man suit.

“It’s a little damaged,” he had said. “It’s going to take longer than normal. Don’t go anywhere, please?”

And of course she’d said she wouldn’t. So she sat at one of his benches as she watched the pieces of metal fall off, revealing the man underneath.

Tony was darkly beautiful, even battered and bruised. He always had been. It wasn’t just his money that made women throw themselves at him. It was the sarcastic twist of his smile, the intelligent depth of his brown eyes, the unruly mop of dark hair, and the strength of his compact body.

He shook himself free of his suit, snarking at the bots, before crossing the room to her. He hesitated a foot away, as if suddenly uncertain.

When had Tony Stark ever been uncertain?

Pepper stepped forward, wrapping one hand around his neck to drag him down for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his tongue flicking across her closed lips. Pepper melted against his body.

She could spend eternity in the strength of his arms.

And yet, he wasn’t her soulmate. Pepper broke the kiss, pulling back, and said, “Tony, I think we need to talk about this.”

Panic flickered in his eyes, chased away by his usual cockiness. “Talk is overrated,” he said, and placed a soft kiss against her temple.

“Tony, please.” She laid her hand on his cheek, his stubble pricking her palm as he leaned into her touch.

He closed his eyes. “I don’t want a soulmate. I want you.”

Pepper shivered at the words, clutching Tony tighter to her. “Oh, Tony. It’s a beautiful sentiment, but…”

“If I may, Miss Potts.”

Pepper and Tony both jumped back in surprise. It was only JARVIS, but the AI had never before interrupted Pepper. He was usually respectful of conversations between people in the house, not butting in where he wasn’t needed.

“May what, JARVIS?” Pepper asked, looking up at the ceiling out of habit even though she knew JARVIS did not in fact reside there.

“You seem to be operating under the false assumption that Sir is not your soulmate.”

Pepper closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to keep emotions from clouding her mind. Fear, anxiety, hope, they had all spiked at those words. But she needed to think. She needed to know.

“JARVIS, what are you talking about?” Tony demanded, an angry edge in his voice.

“Sir, do I have your permission to reveal your Words to Miss Potts?”

“Pretty sure she already knows them, J.”

“Actually, Tony,” Pepper said faintly, opening her eyes to look at the man she loved. “I don’t.” She reached out and took his left hand in the both of hers, trailing her fingers over the watch currently covering his Words.

He was always so careful with his Words. Everyone was, since knowing someone’s Words was the easiest way to manipulate them, to trick them into thinking the wrong person was their soulmate. But Tony was extra careful with his, going to great lengths to make sure they were covered, wearing special wrist bands and sometimes double layers. It was one of his defense mechanisms.

The fear of a man who had been left by everyone he’d ever loved.

“Oh,” he said. “I thought you knew.” Tony let go of her hand and began to remove his watch.

Pepper’s stomach flipped as she watched his deft fingers undo the latches. Tony trusted her. He trusted her enough to share the only physical manifestation of his soul. It took her breath away.

Tony offered his now bare wrist to Pepper. She took his hand, pulling it close as she read Words she had said before, “' _I’m your new PA.’”_

“I’ll never have a PA again  if it means I get to keep you, Pepper," he said. "I don’t care who this person is. I just want you.”

Pepper shook her head, her stomach unclenching, hope blossoming in her heart. She knew these words. They had indeed been the first words she had ever spoken to Tony Stark.

She remembered that day vividly. Her first day at Stark Industries, coming into contact with the force of nature that was Tony Stark. She remembered his eyes flitting over her as if he barely saw her, as if she was not worthy of his time, and him asking, “Who is this?”

And those were not the Words on her wrist.

“JARVIS,” Pepper said, “do you know what my Words are?”

“Yes, Miss Potts,” he answered. She was not surprised. Pepper was careful with her Words, but JARVIS monitored the whole of Tony’s house. The smallest slip—even as simple as taking off her bracelet to wash her hands—and he would see.

But if he had seen her Words, how could he possibly think they were soulmates?

“I don’t understand,” Pepper said. “If you know my Words, then you know Tony and I can’t possibly be soulmates. Because I remember the first words Tony ever said to me. And they are certainly not written on my wrist.”

“You are mistaken,” JARVIS said.

“I know what’s on my wrist, JARVIS.”

“No, I mean you are mistaken about what Sir’s first words to you were.” 

Pepper shook her head, looking to Tony, but the man looked just as confused as she did.

“Maybe,” Tony said softly, slipping an arm around Pepper’s waist and pulling her close, “we should hear him out?”

Pepper nodded, trying to ignore the hope blossoming in her heart. JARVIS wouldn’t say anything unless he knew something they didn’t, unless he knew something that could make the current situation better. But what could he know? JARVIS hadn’t even been created when Pepper met Tony.

Tony turned his attention to the AI. “JARVIS, explain.”

 “Sir, if you approach a monitor, I can show you the security footage from the day you met here in the house, ten years ago.”

As one, Tony and Pepper moved to the nearby monitor. Video started playing, showing Pepper waiting patiently at the top of the stairs that went from the main room down to the lab. She remembered how awkward she’d felt, after Obadiah told her to wait there while he went to fetch Tony.

She heard Tony before she saw him, babbling about something that, even ten years later, she still didn’t understand. When the man finally rose into view,  Obadiah Stane was at his side.

Tony’s breath hitched. It still affected him, Obadiah’s betrayal. She slipped an arm around him and squeezed him tight to her side.

The Tony in the video caught sight of Pepper. He motioned in her direction, his gaze turning back to Obadiah. “Who is this?”

“I’m your new PA,” young Pepper said with a bright smile. The Tony at Pepper’s side stiffened. Had he not realized, after all this time, that those were the first words she’d ever said to him?

How many women, she wondered, had said them to him before?

“New? New?” Tony in the video asked Obadiah. “What happened to the old one?”

“She quit, Tony,” Obadiah said.

“Quit? Well that’s just…expected. What did I do this time?”

“I believe it was sleeping with her daughter,” Obadiah answered.

Pepper remembered how awkward she had found the conversation, but Lord knows she had been prepared well in advance for what Tony was like. Her very first day with him had confirmed his status as a womanizing bachelor, and she was ashamed to admit it had taken her years to see beyond that.

“Daughter? What? When did that happen?” Tony in the video asked.

“Last Wednesday, Mr. Stark,” she answered, which she only knew because the last PA had ranted at her for an hour  as she handed off Tony's schedule and contacts.

The Tony in the video finally turned towards Pepper, surprise on his face. “How do you know that?”

And the Pepper in real life, the Pepper who had spent ten years by that man’s side, gasped as the Pepper in the video answered, “I know everything.”

“Oh my God,” Pepper said, her hand going to her mouth. The video stopped playing. JARVIS had made his point.

“What?” Tony turned to her, but Pepper couldn’t answer. Tears swam in her eyes. “JARVIS, what is Pepper seeing that I don’t?”

“I believe Miss Potts has been operating under the false assumption that the first words you ever spoke to her were, ‘Who is this?’ or possibly ‘New?’ When in reality, you spoke those words to Mr. Stane, merely in Miss Potts presence,” JARVIS said.

“I’ve always had a habit of talking over people,” Tony agreed. “But I’m still not seeing it, J.”

Pepper pulled free from Tony, fumbling with the bracelet on her left wrist. She broke the latch in her hurry, letting it drop to the floor as she bared her wrist to Tony..

“ _’How do you know that?_ ’” Tony read aloud.

“The first words you ever spoke to me,” Pepper said between her tears. Tony looked up from her hand and into her eyes, and she saw the dawning realizing on his face. “Tony, you are my soulmate.”

For a moment he just stared at her, and then suddenly he pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tight she could barely breathe.

“Thank God,” he whispered into her ear. “Thank God.”

Pepper couldn’t respond in words. She just held him back and cried.


	5. Multiple Soulmates

_The average person is born with a sentence or phrase on their left wrist, the first Words their soulmate will ever speak directly to them. They live their entire lives waiting to hear those magical words. One day they do. And that story is well known, well studied. But what of the outliers?_

_Records show that, dating back to the beginning of human history, there have been two additional scenarios to consider._

_The first scenario is the person who is born with more than one phrase on their left wrist: the person who has more than one soulmate. These individuals experience the soulmate bond in one of two ways: (1) The person’s first soulmate dies and then they find another; (2) Polyamory._

**The Playground, 2014**

Natasha watched Phil while he slept.

Even though he was alone in his bed, he slept on the edge, as if someone else was taking up the other three-quarters. Natasha supposed that some habits became ingrained after twenty years of living with his soulmate. Even if Clint was not here now, and nowhere to be seen.

Worry skirted the edges of her mind, but Natasha refused to acknowledge it. It had been months, and she still didn’t know where Clint was, if he was safe, if he was even still alive.

Phil would know. He always knew. Always kept a close eye on Clint.

 _And on you_ , a voice in the back of her mind whispered.

She clutched her left wrist, the burn mark hidden beneath the long sleeves of her hoodie.

Phil's breathing changed. He didn’t open his eyes.

“I know you’re awake,” Natasha said.

He relaxed visibly, and his eyes flickered open. “Natasha,” he said. A smile played across his lips and was quickly replaced by a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you know?” Natasha asked. She didn’t move from her seat in his desk chair, turned to face him five feet from the bed.

“Know what?” Phil sat up, the blankets falling away. So few people got to see him without his suits. He wrapped himself in his Armani, his Dolce & Gabbana, and even occasionally the poorly-fitting off-the-rack suit. He hid himself behind the layers and polished lines. Natasha had always known it was a privilege to be one of the few allowed to see him in anything less, to be allowed to see him like this in just a t-shirt and boxers.

But now she wondered if it was because he actually trusted her or because he knew they were soulmates.

She should have known better than to trust him. She knew better than to allow anyone to find a purchase in her heart. Assets did not trust. They could not afford to.

 _We are not assets_. The Soldier’s voice was firm in her head. _We are people._

Natasha held out the picture. Phil took it and looked down at it.

At first he seemed puzzled, confused, as if he didn’t know what he was looking at. Then his entire body went rigid, his agent mask locking firmly into place.

“This is your wrist,” he said. His voice was quiet, edged with a threat that wasn't directed at her.

“According to the SHIELD file I found it in, yes,” Natasha answered, her hands dropping to her lap. She could draw the knives tucked into her sleeves in less than a second, faster than Phil could launch himself across the floor. She wasn't as fast as the Soldier, but she was faster than Phil.

“SHIELD,” Phil repeated coldly. He gripped the picture, crumpling it in his hand, but his face remained a mask of calm as he grabbed his cell phone off the night stand and dialed a number. The phone rang, surprisingly on speakerphone.

“Little early for a wakeup call, DC,” a woman answered sleepily.

“Skye, I need you to look in the SHIELD files online,” Phil said. “Specifically I need you to look in…” He turned to Natasha. “You found this in your personal file?”

She nodded.

“Look in Natasha Romanoff’s personal file. There’s an image of a wrist. I need to know who put it there. Was it Fury? Or was it HYDRA? And I need to know what protections and firewalls it was put behind.”

“Give me an hour to wake up…”

“I need it now, Skye.” Phil’s tone left no room for compromise.

“Okay, ten minutes, then—”

“Call me when you have something.” He hung up the phone and threw it on the bed. “ _Motherfuckers_.” He ran a hand over his sparse hair—a habit he had picked up from Clint.

This was not the reaction she had expected.

She had been incapable of imagining a scenario where Phil didn’t know. Though Natasha knew HYDRA had infected SHIELD, knew that there had been things going on that even Nick Fury hadn’t known about, she had been incapable of truly considering there was a possibility that Phil hadn’t known. Phil had made it his business to know every single thing about his assets, everything from their favorite book to whether or not they had had the measles. Had he really not known about this?

 _I don’t know everything, Rogers. I only pretend to_. Her own words came back to haunt her. It was a trick she had learned young, the need to seem like she knew everything.

Who was to say Phil hadn’t learned the same trick?

“You didn’t know?” Natasha asked.

Phil stopped pacing and looked at her, his eyes wide. “God, no,” he said. “We…suspected. But we didn’t know.”

“You suspected,” Natasha said flatly.

He stepped towards her and then carefully—telegraphing his movements so as not to startle her—went down on his knees in front of her, offering up his bare left wrist. He looked up at her, his agent calm lost, replaced instead by something sad, lost, and raw. “We more than suspected.”

Natasha took his wrist in her hand, aware that she could slit it before he could do anything. Few people would make themselves so vulnerable before the Black Widow. Clint and Phil had always been different, trusting her even when she didn’t deserve it.

 _Because they’re your soulmates_.

She ran her fingers over the black lettering on his wrist. Two questions. The first question was Clint’s: he had told her the story, of desperation and a diner in the middle of the winter. But the second was a question she recognized. One that matched the answer in her picture.

“ _Are you going to eat that_?” The Words were clear on his wrist.

“ _Help yourself_ ” were the Words from Natasha’s.

Natasha rubbed the Words, part of her expecting them to smear under her touch.  She remembered that moment, Clint taking her to a café to meet his handler—the one with the authority to actually give her the chance Clint had promised. She remembered seeing the man in the suit for the first time, and not being fooled by his unassuming attitude. She saw the power in the set of his shoulder, the danger in the certainty in his eyes. She had been nervous and not wanting to show it, so she’d slid into the seat across from him and asked if he was going to eat the fries on his plate.

His lips had quirked into a smile, and Natasha had felt Clint relax at her back. And that had been the beginning of something beautiful, of Strike Team Delta, of the closest Natasha Romanoff had ever had to a family.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha asked. “Why didn’t either of you say anything?”

“You didn’t know your Words,” Phil said. His gaze dropped, staring at her thumb as she rubbed it over the Words on his wrist. “We couldn’t know for certain. And we didn’t want you to think…you’ve been…” He shook his head, as if shaking free thoughts. “Having you with us was enough. If we wanted more, well…we didn’t have the right.”

Natasha stared at the Words, her emotions a flurry of unrecognizable things. Anger and frustration yes, but also… was that fondness? Caring? Love?

The phone rang, distracting Natasha from her fluttering heart.

Phil didn’t pull his wrist from Natasha. Instead, he reached back with his right hand and grabbed the phone off his bed. “Coulson.”

“DC, it looks like that photo was kept behind a HYDRA firewall in the files. So any regular SHIELD agent who accessed it wouldn’t see it, but if you had a HYDRA ID you could. Also looks like it was originally uploaded about ten years ago from some Russian HYDRA group. As far as I can tell, Nick Fury never saw it. But…” she paused.

“What?”

“Jasper Sitwell definitely did.”

Phil went completely still.

“You’re sure.”

“The file has his fingerprints all over it,” Skye answered. “Sorry, DC.”

“Thank you, Skye.” He hung up and then stared at the phone for another long moment.

His stillness unnerved Natasha. If Clint was here, he’d run a hand over Phil’s shoulders, instantly soothing him. But Natasha and Phil had never had that sort of relationship, the sort with touching—casual or otherwise.

But…why not? He was her soulmate too, wasn't he and soulmates touched each other. Soulmates soothed each other.

Natasha reached out and gently ran her fingers through his hair, just above his ear, ready to pull her hand back if he stiffened. But he didn't pull away. Tension ebbed out of his shoulders as she repeated the motion.

He leaned into her touch, left hand  still firmly in Natasha's grip as she petted him with her other hand.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” he said softly. “Maybe it was a mistake. I don’t know.” He shook his head gently, so as not to dislodge Natasha’s hand. “We didn’t want to lose you. We still don’t want to lose you.”

He looked up at her with those brilliant blue eyes, eyes that had once convinced Natasha to trust him with their kindness and certainty. “Tell me we haven’t lost you.”

Had they? Natasha closed her eyes, considering Phil’s dry smile and Clint’s easy laugh. Remembering all the times they had literally and metaphorically held each other together. Could it all have been a lie? A manipulation?

And yet…if they had truly wanted to manipulate her, wouldn’t they have used the Words they had against her, coerced her to be their soulmate whether she wanted it or not?

“You haven’t lost me,” she whispered, opening her eyes. Relief filled his face as she slipped from the chair, pulling him into her arms. He buried his face in her neck and wrapped his arms around her, and Natasha felt the wetness of tears.

“I don’t know what we would do if we had,” Phil said.

 

**A Week Later**

The blast doors opened and at first Clint could only see one thing: Phil.

Phil looking perfect and beautiful in his suit. Phil, the only solid thing in Clint’s entire fucking world. His rock, his foundation, his soulmate.

And then the doors opened further and he saw someone standing beside him.

God, if Phil was his anchor than Natasha was the wind in his sails, and yeah, those metaphors contradicted but he didn’t fucking care. The point was he fucking needed them both.

Clint stumbled forward into the warmth and out of the snow. He tripped over the threshold, but Natasha caught him, her hands firm on his arms.

Suddenly she was hugging him, her face buried in his chest. And then Phil was there, his arms around both of them, holding them tight to his strong chest.

Clint didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t care.

Because he was finally home.

_Most people only have one soulmate in their lifetime, even those who are widowed. To have multiple soulmates is extremely rare, and therefore, those with multiple soulmates are almost universally considered to be blessed. Which is why even in cultures that have biases or laws against polyamory, individuals with multiple soulmates have always been excepted. It’s not illegal bigamy when they’re both pieces of your soul._


	6. Soulmate-Less

_The second scenario is the person born with a blank wrist: a person with no soulmate._

_History and anthropology have shown us that cultures throughout history have been divided on what this means. Half of the societies studied in Acheson's wide-ranging historical survey believe that these people are cursed, that their lack of a soulmate means they will die an early death—a child dying before maturity or a young man struck down in a war. These societies often shun or otherwise exclude those without soulmates from full participation in the community, making their predictions of early death into self-fulfilling prophecies. Did the soulmate-less child die because he was cursed? Or because his tribe abandoned him in the woods alone?_

_However, other societies have treated those without soulmates as a kind of elect, more pure and good because of their status. The Oracle of Delphi, always a woman born without a soulmate, is one historically prominent example. Another is the apostle Paul, who notably espoused that that it is better to be without a soulmate than with one, because a person without a soulmate is complete upon themselves, their entire soul resting in God instead of partly in another person._

_Modern science has shown us there is good reason for the former belief: ninety-nine percent of children who die before the age of ten are without a soulmate. On the other hand, history gives us many examples of people without soulmates living to ripe old ages._

_Perhaps some people simply are complete in themselves._

**Brooklyn, NY 1940**

“Steve, time to get up!” A chipper voice and a knock on the door woke Steve Rogers up.

His eyes snapped open, immediately disoriented. It had definitely been Mrs. Barnes’ voice. He’d recognize her voice anywhere. In the past few years of him living with the Barneses, it had become as familiar to him as his own mother’s voice. ( _More familiar_ , a voice in the back of his head whispered _, we’re forgetting what Ma sounded like._ ) But knocking on his door, calling for him to get up—this wasn’t how she normally woke him.

Steve sat up, swinging his legs off his bed and ignoring the tightness in his chest. He had a full day ahead of him, with his classes at Brooklyn College this morning and then his work at the paper all afternoon. He couldn’t afford to let a little shortness of breath slow him down.

Quietly, so as to not wake Bucky, he got out of the bed, going over to the chair where he had set out his clothes the night before. He changed easily, even though the room was very nearly pitch dark still, the only light coming from under the door.

Most of the Barneses got up at this time as well, getting ready for work or school. But ever since Bucky had gotten a job as a waiter at a swanky restaurant in Manhattan, his entire schedule had been shifted several hours off from the rest. So Bucky slept while Steve got ready for his day, and Bucky was usually gone for work by the time Steve got home for dinner.

It was strange, seeing so little of him. Steve had expected it after they finished school, when Bucky started working jobs and Steve had been accepted at Brooklyn College, but now they saw each other so rarely. Bucky tried to come out to the college to have lunch with Steve before he left for the paper, but it didn’t always happen.

Some weeks Steve only saw him on Sundays at church.

So if, when Steve opened the door to slip out, he turned back and looked to the top bunk, hoping to catch a glimpse of his best friend, it was understandable.

What was not understandable was that Bucky Barnes was not in his bed.

Normally Bucky slept limbs akimbo, an arm or a leg hanging off the side of the bed (sometimes Steve even had to duck lest he accidentally jar and wake him), but Bucky’s bed was empty, his sheets in disarray. Had he come back last night at all?

It was possible his shift ran late and he’d crashed with one of the waiters who lived closer. It happened sometimes, especially if Bucky and the other waiters had broken out a few beers after the end of his shift. But if that was the case, Mrs. Barnes was going to kill him. She did not like having any of her children unaccounted for.

Steve stepped out of his bedroom and into the main room. Mrs. Barnes was at the stove as normal, cooking breakfast. Usually, by this time Mr. Barnes would be at the table with the morning paper, reading out headlines to Mrs. Barnes as he waited for her to finish breakfast. But Mr. Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes,” Steve said. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Oh, he had to run an early morning errand with Mr. Barnes,” Mrs. Barnes said. There was something brittle in her words, something forced in her smile. Steve hadn’t been worried, not really, until just now.

Bucky running an errand in the very early morning wasn’t unheard of. He did whatever jobs he could, but Mrs. Barnes being nervous about it was unusual. But Bucky wasn’t the reckless one, and God knew Mr. Barnes certainly wasn’t. Was Bucky really sick? But no, that didn’t make sense, because then the doctor would be here. But what else could it be? Where the hell was Bucky?

“What errand?” Steve asked, carefully regulating his breathing and not letting worry get the better of him.

“It’s a family matter, Steve,” Mrs. Barnes said, not unkindly. The Barneses didn’t like to remind Steve that he wasn’t part of the family. “They’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about it. Now sit down. Oatmeal’s ready.”

Steve did as he was told and ate his oatmeal, his eyes constantly leaping to the door at every little noise, hoping it was Bucky arriving home.

But Bucky didn’t make it home before Steve had to leave for class.

Steve tried not to let it bother him.

***

By the time Steve came home from the newspaper after a day of classes and work, he was ready to eat dinner and then pass out.

Inside the apartment, Mrs. Barnes was nowhere to be seen, but a large pot simmered on the stove, filling the apartment with the smells of soup and the warmth of the oven. Steve closed the door and then leaned against it. The worries of the paper and school slipped away, tension leaving his shoulders and his lungs loosening. It had been a long day, but he was finally home.

Steve only allowed himself a moment of weakness before shouldering his pack again. He made his way to his room, threw open the door, and froze, startled.

Bucky sat on Steve’s bed, shirtless despite the chill in the air, his body hunched over in a perfect imitation of the Thinker, staring down at his left wrist. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up with wide blue eyes and tried to hide his left arm, but it was too late. Steve had seen it.

He had seen the black cursive on puffy irritated skin.

Steve stepped in the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Bucky flinched as Steve stepped close. “Stevie,” he said. “This isn’t what it seems…”

“Isn’t what it seems?” Steve’s voice cracked, rising an octave. “Because what it seems like is you got a tattoo. What it seems like is you’ve forged a soulmate mark.” Panic fluttered through Steve’s chest, constricting his lungs. Forging Words was so illegal it didn’t bear thinking about. It was the height of chicanery--only ruffians, criminals or worse would ever think to forge marks, to trick girls into falling in love with them even though they weren’t a soulmate. Why would Bucky…God, why would Bucky ever think he should do such a thing?

“Dammit, Steve, keep your voice down,” Bucky said, jumping up from the bed. “Do you want the whole block to know?”

The confirmation acted like a vice on Steve’s lungs. He doubled over, coughing, torn between his panic over his lungs and his panic over Bucky.

“Steve? Steve!” Bucky suddenly had his hands on him, pushing him onto his bed. “Lie down. Focus on breathing. I’ll get your cigs…”

Bucky tried to back away, but Steve grabbed his wrist, looking up into his eyes as he coughed into his free hand. “Buck…”

“Hush, Stevie,” Bucky said, fear in his eyes. “Breathe. It’s not…I promise, I haven’t done anything stupid, okay? It’s safe. It’s gonna be okay. Just let me get your cigarettes, okay?”

Steve nodded, let Bucky go, and fell back into his bed, all energy gone.

He tried to focus on his breathing. Tried to think only about the air moving in and out of his lungs. But he couldn’t banish the sight of Bucky’s left wrist from his mind: the red irritation of the sensitive skin and the stark black lettering.

“Steve.” His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up at the sound of Mr. Barnes’s voice. The man sat on the edge of his bed, holding out a burning asthma cigarette for Steve. He took it and took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill and loosen his lungs before hesitantly looking back at Mr. Barnes.

James Barnes Sr. had the same dark blue eyes as his son, though his were hidden behind wire-frame glasses; the same brown hair, though his was kept short and neat; and even many of the same features, except for the pouty lips. Those Bucky got from his mom. Looking at Mr. Barnes, Steve could see who Bucky was gonna be in another twenty years: hardworking and respectable, a good man.

“Bucky tells me you saw his wrist,” Mr. Barnes said.

Steve nodded, unable to find words even if his lungs would allow him. Mr. Barnes knew? Was that…was that what they had been doing this morning?

“You and Bucky have been close, and I’ve never minded,” Mr. Barnes said. “Every boy needs a best friend, a brother, and even though you tend to pull Bucky into trouble, I think you’ve made him a better boy—a better man. He’s thought more and deeper because of you. And that’s a good thing.”

Steve sucked in on his cigarette, his eyes wide. He had no idea where this was going.

“Bucky’s been good for you, too. We both know that you owe him your life a dozen times over. . And so, Steve, this once, I ask you to return the favor.”

“Sir,” Steve managed to say. “I would never do anything to hurt Bucky, or to risk his life or…”

“Steven,” Mr. Barnes said sternly. “I’m talking to you, and you’re going to listen. Quietly.”

Steve nodded, sucking on his cigarette.

“I fought in the War, like your father, like nearly every man. You know this,” Mr. Barnes said, and Steve’s eyes widened. Mr. Barnes never talked about the War. “What you don’t know is what it’s like to be in a country gearing for war. How it changes things. Suddenly young men aren’t people--they’re pawns for politicians and generals to play with.

“When I went to the War, I was already married. Bucky was already born. I had a son without any Words, with nothing to ensure him a future.” Mr. Barnes paused, looking down at his own wrist, hidden beneath the cuff of his shirt. “Before Bucky I never knew such a thing was possible.”

That was understandable. Steve hadn’t either. It wasn’t the sort of thing people talked about.

“In War, things are different,” Mr. Barnes said. “People don’t hide their Words as well. They talk about them. Talk about how it gives them hope, or about the girls they left behind, and the like. And in the trenches, you hear things. Things that the brass would rather you not know.” Mr. Barnes looked up, his blue eyes drilling into Steve.  “Do you know what I learned, Steve?”

Steve shook his head, afraid to say anything.

“I learned that men who enlisted who didn’t have Words, men with blank wrists, were considered cannon fodder. They were dead the moment they signed up. Boys no older than you or my Bucky were written off all because they had no soulmate, and therefore the army had decided they had no future.

“War is coming to this country, Steve. I know you and Bucky, you don’t necessarily see it. You’re young and there are girls and baseball. But the country isn’t gonna be able to ignore what’s going on in Europe. There’s already a bill asking for Congress’s permission to enact a draft. And if Bucky gets drafted and they see he doesn’t have Words--” Mr. Barnes looked away, as if to hide his expression from Steve. “I’m not going to lose my son because some desk bound general thinks he’s nothing but a pawn.

 “The only people who have ever known Bucky is without a mark are his mother and me, the midwife who was there when he was born, and you. That midwife died ten years ago.” Mr. Barnes looked back at Steve, leaning in. Steve couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. “I love you like a son, Steve. But Bucky _is_ my son. And if I have to choose between you and him, I choose him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Steve’s eyes widened at the unspoken threat, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Mr. Barnes said. He stood. “I’m going to send Bucky back in here. And you’re going to reassure him that you don’t think less of him for doing what he needed to do.”

“Sir,” Steve said, earnestly. He needed Mr. Barnes to understand. Steve would never let anything happen to Bucky. “You know…You know I would die for Bucky, right?”

Mr. Barnes expression softened. “I know, Steve. I know.”

The older man left the room, the door ajar, and a moment later Bucky stepped through. He closed the door behind him but then stood hesitantly by it, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. He was wearing an undershirt now, a sleeveless number that showed off his arms, but his left wrist was wrapped with gauze, as if he had sprained it.

Steve sat up, swinging his legs off the bed so he sat on the edge. He took one last drag on his cigarette and then stubbed it out on the nightstand ashtray. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

The other boy snorted. “Sorry? For what? Being a punk?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “I should’ve known you had a reason. I’m sorry…”

“Stop it,” Bucky said. He crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Steve, the bed creaking under the extra weight and the smell of his aftershave filling the air. Steve wanted to curl into Bucky’s warmth, but he satisfied himself with knocking shoulders with him. .

“You jumped to a conclusion. You were wrong. Moral of the story: You’re a punk. That’s nothing new, Stevie,” Bucky said. “But what did you think? That I’d forged Words to get some dame to fall for me?”

“No, I know you don’t need Words to get a dame,” Steve said, shifting with embarrassment. He should’ve known better than to jump to a hasty conclusion. And this was Bucky for crying out loud. Steve was the one known for doing stupid things, not Bucky. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said.

For a moment they sat in silence, their shoulders brushing. Then Steve asked, hesitantly, “So what Words did you get?”

“Something stupid,” Bucky said with a sigh. “I wanted something special, like you have, like Ma and Pop have, but Pop said it would be best to go with something common to as to not draw attention.”

“So what does it say?”

“Excuse me,” Bucky said.

Steve snickered. “There is no excuse for you, Buck. Any dame worth her salt knows that.”

“God, you’re such a punk!” And Bucky pounced him, rough housing him back into the bed. Steve tried to wrestle him off, throw him on the ground, but of course Bucky was too big. And he didn’t let Steve up until Mrs. Barnes called them for dinner.

Bucky was laughing when he left the room, and Steve was smiling when he followed him.

And Steve did his best not to think about how war was coming, how Bucky didn’t have any Words, and what that might mean about his future.

 

**London, England 1945**

The liquor burned on the way down, but it couldn’t burn away Steve’s pain.

Bucky had always seemed invincible, strong in a way that Steve had never been. Bucky hadn’t needed Words on his wrist to tell him his worth or assure him of his continued existence—not like Steve. Bucky had lived on the strength of his will alone.

If there had ever been anyone born without a soulmate mark who would live to see a ripe old age, Steve had been sure it would be Bucky.

He had been so sure. And he had been wrong.

Steve ignored Peggy’s eyes on him as he took another drink. Maybe later he’d be glad that she had sought him out, wasn’t letting him wallow in his pain alone, but for now, he wished she’d just leave.

She hadn’t known Bucky, not really. He’d been just another Commando to her. How could she even begin to fathom what Bucky had meant to him?

Steve knew his thoughts were uncharitable, knew that Peggy knew every man in the Howling Commandos, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Bucky had always— _always_ —been there, and now he never would be again.

Just like his mother.

Peggy’s gentle hand on his wrist stopped him from downing another glass. Steve looked up from the liquor. The concern and sympathy in her eyes twisted something within him. A beautiful dame shouldn’t look so sad, especially not over him.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

Steve shrugged.

Her thumb swept over the cuff of his uniform as she asked, “Was he your soulmate?”

Steve laughed. He couldn’t help it. The idea of Bucky—irrepressible Bucky who never needed anyone—finding the other half of his soul in someone as pathetic as Steve was ridiculous. “The first words Bucky Barnes ever said to me were, ‘You okay, kid?’”

“Oh,” Peggy said. Those weren’t his Words, and she knew it. She’d seen his intake, his medical records. She knew the words written on his wrist. Before the army the only other people who had known had been his mother and Bucky.

Now, there was only the army.


	7. Can Bonds Be Broken?

_Many view the soulmate-less as the least fortunate of creatures, but that is because they operate under the romantic idea that to have a soulmate is to have a happily ever after--that once you find your soulmate, nothing could ever possibly go wrong. Like other romance novel tropes—such as the jealous soulmate-less—this perfect relationship appears rarely in real life._

_We’ve all known couples who are soulmates whose relationship contains no happiness. The abuser who beats his soulmate. The soulmate who dies, leaving the other alone. Or the one that for one reason or another just leaves._

_A bond is not a guarantee. A bond can always be broken._

**Culver University, Virginia 2008**

The movie ended, but Betty didn’t move from the couch, comfortably nestled into Leonard’s arms. The man moved slightly, his lips brushing against her ear and his thumb running over the thick gold band Betty always wore on her left wrist, covering Bruce’s words.

“We’re not soulmates,” he said. “We both know that. I’ve never met mine, but I like you, Betty. Quite a bit. And…”

Betty hushed him with a kiss.

“We need to talk about this,” he said, pulling back.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Betty said. “He left. He’s not coming back.”

Leonard studied her for a moment, and Betty kept her face impassive and still. Bruce was never coming back. She had accepted that. And she was happy with Leonard, she was. Even if it felt like a piece of her heart was missing.

“Okay,” he said.

And when he kissed her, she tried not to compare his lips to Bruce’s.

 

**Calcutta, India 2012**

“You’ve been more than a year without an incident,” the SHIELD agent said. “I don’t think you want to break that streak.”

Bruce looked to the cradle, unable to stop himself from reaching out a hand to rock it. “Well, I don’t every time get what I want.”

 

**Manhattan, New York 2015**

“Bruce?”

Bruce looked up from his microscope at the sound of Jane Foster’s voice. The other scientist stood in the doorway of his lab, waiting for permission to enter. Unlike some engineers they knew.

“Jane,” Bruce said with a smile. “What brings you over here?” Usually they didn’t bother each other in their labs, since Bruce and Jane had little reason to work together. Tony bounced between both their labs and his own, building them gadgets for their experiments whether they needed them or not.

“I wanted to warn you that I’m leaving tomorrow for a conference, the Association for Women in Science conference,” Jane said. “So Tony may be bothering you more than usual.”

Bruce snorted softly. “Thanks for the warning. I wonder if I can get Steve to stay in the Tower while you’re gone. That’ll distract Tony.”

“It would,” Jane said with a smile. “And I think Steve enjoys it, trolling Tony with his old man act.”

Bruce chuckled. Tony seemed to think that Steve should behave like a ninety-year-old man, instead of the twenty-something he was biologically, and it baffled Tony every time when Steve did something out of the box Tony had put him in.

“I’ll give him a call,” Bruce said. Jane nodded and then seemed to waffle in the doorway, as if she had something more to say but wasn’t sure. Bruce lifted an eyebrow and instinctually reached for his glasses, to remove them, only to remember he had removed them before peering into the microscope. “Was there something else you needed?”

“I was looking at the conference proceedings,” Jane said. “And…well, I saw that the Biomedical Development Session was being chaired by Dr. Elizabeth Ross.”

Betty.

Once her name would’ve been like a dagger in his heart. But now Betty’s loss was a constant dull ache in his chest, like a mended bone irritated by the cold.

“She's the chair?” he said. Jane nodded. “Good for her. It’s an honor to be asked for that.”

“Yes, it is,” Jane agreed. “I was wondering, Bruce…do you want me to talk to her while I’m there? Maybe if I talk to her and explain that you live in the Tower now, and that it’s safe because Thor and the others are here to stop you if you do something, maybe…maybe she’ll come.”

Bruce smiled at Jane reassuringly. It was close to taboo for her to even bring the subject up—to intrude into someone else’s soulmate relationship—and he appreciated the depth of her fondness for him that she would even think to broach the subject with a woman she had never met for him. “Thank you, Jane,” he said, “but that’s unnecessary.”

“But, Bruce,” she said. “It’s safe for her to live here. Darcy lives here, for goodness sake. If you can handle Darcy and Tony in the same building without hulking out you can handle anything.”

“True,” Bruce said with a chuckle. Then he sobered.  “But that’s not it. I…Betty and I, we’ve talked. At least, we’ve exchanged emails.”

“And?” Jane prompted, hope on her face as she stepped further into the room.

“Her career is at Culver,” Bruce said. “And I need to be here to be safe.” He shrugged. “For now it makes more sense for us to be apart, so we are. Maybe one day we’ll be together again, but for now…For now we are happy as we are.”

“You can’t really mean that,” Jane said with a frown, subconsciously touching her left wrist. “She’s your soulmate, Bruce. You’re other half. You’re meant to be together.”

“I love Betty with all my heart,” Bruce agreed, “but this is for the best right now, Jane. It’s what we need. So while I won’t discourage you from talking to Betty—she is a wonderful woman and you would do well to have her as a colleague and a friend—you don’t need to talk to her on my behalf. We’re fine.”

Jane nodded, her expression sad. “If you say so.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. “Have a good trip.”

“I will.” Jane said. She hesitated as if she might want to say something more but then nodded, as if she made a decision and left, leaving Bruce alone.

He turned back to his microscope, staring down at it but not into it.

This was best, he reminded himself. Bruce was happy in the Tower, he really was, and he knew Betty was happy in Culver. He was getting to do research with Tony that he had never dreamed about, and Betty’s career was going exactly as she wanted. This was for the best, for both of them.

He rubbed his wrist and then turned his attention back to microscopic organisms.


	8. Can A Person Die Without Meeting Their Soulmate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a discussion of whether or not Steve was suicidal when he crashed the Red Skull's plane. There are, however, no suicidal thoughts.

_Throughout history, the existence of soulmates has spawned a great many philosophical questions, the most obvious of which is “do individuals have any control over their destinies?” If, from the moment a person is born, that person knows they will meet their soulmate and the first words that person will say to them, how much control can a person really have over their own life?_

_Many find comfort in the fact that Fate seems to control our lives. The common belief that a person cannot die before they meet their soulmate has led many people to engage in reckless, life-endangering activities. After all, if they were fated to die without meeting their soulmate, would they not have been born with a blank wrist?_

_But history does not support the belief that those who have not met their soulmate are invulnerable. After all, it is well documented that when Captain America’s plane plunged into the Artic, he had never met his soulmate._

**Brooklyn, New York 1927**

It was dark in the room. The only way Bucky knew he wasn’t alone was by Steve’s wheezing. Bucky reached out across the bed  brushing his best friend’s arm, and trailed his fingers down Steve’s arm to his wrist, lightly checking his pulse the way Mrs. Rogers had shown him. The flutter in his wrist was strong and fast, too fast for Steve to be sleeping.

“Hey, Stevie, you awake?” Bucky whispered.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s breathing, it was so labored. Bucky chewed his lip, wondering if he should get his parents or Steve’s Ma or anyone.

Bucky wasn’t stupid. At ten years old he was practically grown, and he knew more than the adults gave him credit for. Like that most of them—his parents included—didn’t expect his best friend to live beyond childhood. Bucky’s hand clenched on Steve’s wrist as the fear of losing the other boy jolted through him.

“Buck,” Steve complained.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Bucky blurted.

Silence followed his question, and Bucky closed his eyes to berate himself. He shouldn’t have asked. It was inappropriate to ask, his Ma had told him that a hundred times. But if Steve had a soulmate, it meant he couldn’t die, not yet. It meant that he would survive this night and the next and the next until he met the dame who said the Words on his wrist.

And if he didn’t have a soulmate, well…well, then they were more alike than Bucky had thought.

“Yeah,” Steve wheezed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Bucky was silent, rubbing his fingers across Steve’s bony wrist. His parents had told him to never tell anyone what was—or was not—on his wrist. But this was Steve. He told Steve everything.

“I don’t,” he confessed. “I’ve got no Words.”

Silence. Then, “That doesn’t make sense, Buck. Everyone has a soulmate.”

“Not me,” Bucky said. “Ma says I’m special. Don’t need anyone else to complete me.”

“Hmm,” Steve said skeptically. “Well, if your ma says it, it must be true, but _my_ ma says it’s not about completion. It’s about knowing no matter what someone out there will always have your back.”

“Well then, whatchya need a soulmate for when you’ve got me?” Bucky said, rapping Steve's chest gently. “I’ve always got your back, punk.”

“And I’ve got yours,” Steve said fervently, as if he could protect Bucky merely with the sincerity of his belief.

“I know.”

“No, really, Buck,” Steve said. “If you don’t have a soulmate, it doesn’t matter. You can be mine. I don’t need no one else but you.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” Steve said. “Or…we can share mine or something. We’ll figure it out. But I’m not gonna let you be alone. I’m with ya, til the end of the line.”

“I’m with you too,” he said. “But Steve, you can’t promise that…you just can’t…”

“I mean it,” he whispered. “Here, I…” Steve sat up, and Bucky did the same, unsure what his friend was doing fumbling in the dark. Then suddenly there was a flash of light, and Steve was lighting the candle on their nightstand with a match.

“Whatchya doing?”

Steve didn’t answer. Instead he fumbled with the cheap cloth wrapped around his wrist. He untied it and slid it off, shoving his left wrist under Bucky’s nose. “There,” he said. “Read it.”

“What?” Bucky pushed his friend’s wrist away. To read someone else’s Words…it wasn’t allowed. Bucky had never even seen his parents’ bare wrists.

“You don’t have any Words, well then, I’m gonna share mine with you,” Steve said, his jaw set stubbornly. Bucky had long ago learned that that expression meant nothing short of divine intervention was going to stop him. “My Words are your Words, Buck.”

It felt wrong, but Bucky needed to see it for himself. He needed to see the words that meant his best friend wasn’t going to die. So Bucky nodded and took Steve’s wrist in hand.

The black cursive was stark against Steve’s pale skin. Bucky gently traced the Words, a knot in his heart loosening. Steve really did have Words. He had a soulmate.

“ _Look, just let me talk and don’t say anything, okay, Stevie?_ ” Bucky read aloud with a frown. “How does your soulmate know you’re called Stevie?”

“Dunno,” Steve said. “Ma says maybe that means my soulmate meets her or you or someone who knows me first and then you guys give her a reason to come talk to me.” Steve shrugged. He licked his lips nervously and looked up into Bucky’s eyes. “Can I…can I see your wrist?”

Bucky nodded and reached for the tie around his wrist. He hesitated over the knot. He’d undressed in front of Steve before, but this…this felt more revealing, more vulnerable. It was wrong to show someone who wasn’t your soulmate your wrist.

But this was Steve.

Bucky untied his wristband and held it out.

The other boy took it, and Bucky shivered as Steve ran his fingers gently across Bucky’s blank wrist. “Wow, Buck. Ma said everyone has a soulmate. I wonder…I wonder why you don’t.”

And Bucky smiled at his best friend, the boy who had gotten so distracted by their conversation that his labored breathing had relaxed, and his lungs no longer rattled. “What do I need a soulmate for when I’ve got a punk like you?”

 

**New York City, New York 2012**

Steve sat on the couch, listening politely to the woman with the notepad. He was assigned to see her once a day. “To help you adjust,” she explained. But Steve wasn’t stupid. They thought he might be crazy after so long in the ice, so of course they made him talk to a head doctor.

“You think I was trying to commit suicide,” Steve said, reading between the lines of her latest politely-phrased question.

“I…well, yes,” the doctor said. Samantha was her name. She was a nice enough dame, even if she insisted on him using her first name  and dressed in a way that Steve couldn’t quite get used to seeing. There was something different about the curves of these modern women. He couldn’t tell if it was that women changed or the way they dressed. When in his room, he drew women he remembered and women he recently saw, trying to figure it out, trying to compare them. But he never had understood women. Odds were he wouldn’t figure out this new version of women either.

“It’s a leading theory,” Samantha said, gently tapping the pencil on her notepad. She did that a lot, Steve had noticed, when she asked a question she was particularly curious about. “You have to understand, Steve, that many of us studied you in school. Many of us have discussed you from a medical, scientific, and historical standpoint all our lives. And one of the leading theories that’s been discussed in the past few decades is that you crashed the plane because you didn’t want to live anymore.”

“What exactly did I have to be suicidal over?” Steve asked. They always expected him to be spooked by the idea that people had been discussing him. Clearly they’d all forgotten that comic books had been made about him as he lived. When he went to Europe there hadn’t been anyone in America who hadn’t known about Captain America. Not to mention there hadn’t been an Allied scientist who hadn’t want to poke and prod him. Steve was quite used to people discussing him.

“Barnes had only recently died, when your plane went down,” she answered.

Steve stared at her, his jaw loose and his eyebrows high. “You…you think I killed myself because Bucky died?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Are you saying that wasn’t a factor?”

“Hell, no. I mean. Pardon my language…”

“You can curse in front of me, Steve. It’s okay. I often curse myself.”

“Oh, well . . .” Steve didn’t really know what to do with that information, so he just ignored it. “Why do you guys think I killed myself because of Bucky?”

“Barnes was your best friend,” Samantha answered. “You took on a HYDRA camp _by yourself_ to rescue him. Clearly he is someone who meant quite a lot to you.”

“Bucky is—was—my best friend,” Steve said, looking away from Samantha and out the window. He knew she’d note his tense slip-up. It was still hard to remember that Bucky was dead. He kept expecting to see him every time he woke up in the morning. He expected Bucky to jump out of the woodwork every time Steve did something stupid. But no, he was alone.

Alone but not suicidal. Were they crazy? “Do you know what he would’ve done to me if I killed myself because of him?” Steve asked. “I would get to the After Life, and that jerk would slap me upside the head and then personally escort me back to earth to continue living.” Steve shook his head. “Dying to join Bucky would’ve gone against everything Bucky stood for. He spent his entire life making sure I stayed alive. Sure, I pulled him out of a HYDRA camp, but do you know how many times Bucky saved my life? I would be dead a hundred times over before I even got to the war, not to mention the number of times he saved me during the war.”

“Then why?” Samantha pressed. “Why did you crash the plane?”

“Honestly?”

Samantha nodded, leaning forward.

“Because I knew I would be rescued.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Steve held up his left wrist. He wore a white band around it, hiding his Words even though she knew what they were. They were in his file, and she had access to everything in his file. But some things were still indecent, even in the future. “I’ve never met my soulmate,” he said with a shrug. “You can’t die without meeting your soulmate. I just…I didn’t think it would take seventy years.”

“Oh,” Samantha said, something in her expression falling. She leaned back in her chair, her pencil still. “How do you know you haven’t met your soulmate and you just didn’t recognize your Words?”

“You’ve read my Words. They’re pretty unmistakable,” Steve said, dropping his hands to his lap. “And no one has said them to me. I promise you that.”

“Some people would say shouldn’t rely on your Words like that,” Samantha said. “You shouldn’t throw yourself into dangerous situations just because you believe in the power of fate.”

Steve smiled softly, looking down at his hands. “No offense, ma’am, but...Before I was Captain America, I was the kid everyone thought might drop dead at any minute. The knowledge that I couldn’t die because no one had ever said my Words to me was the only thing that kept me going, the only thing that kept me calm through asthma attacks, fevers, and sickness. And even though it took seventy years, I didn’t die in that crash either. I think I’m gonna trust Fate over you.”

Samantha smiled. “Fair enough.”


	9. Would Extraterrestrial Life Have Soulmates?

_These are the known and well-studied cases of soulmates, but what about the more existential questions? Not everything is known about the soulmate phenomenon. It is impossible to know everything about something so intrinsically linked with spirituality and fate. And something so mysterious, so supernatural, comes with its own questions._

_For example, what would happen if humanity encountered extraterrestrial life? Do they have soulmates as well? Or are soulmates a uniquely human phenomenon?_

**Asgard, Long Ago**

Frigga found her oldest son hiding in his closet.

Where Loki would flee to the garden and climb a tree when upset, trying to get as high and far away from the rest of them as possible, Thor was prone to find refuge in small tight spaces filled with his own things, as if he was comforted by nearness and familiarity. Now the boy was scrunched up in the back corner of his closet, his hanging clothes brushing his golden hair, his knees held tightly to his chest as he tried valiantly not to cry.

Frigga knelt beside her son. He refused to meet her gaze, staring at the wall as if he could hide the tears welling in his eyes. He was old enough now that he thought crying was beneath him, especially in front of his mother. Frigga often missed the days when her son was small enough to crawl into her lap and weep. But her small babe was no more, long replaced by a gangly youth fighting his way towards manhood. So Frigga waited in silence, knowing that any questions would just make her stubborn son refuse to speak on the matter.

He was so like his father.

Eventually Thor looked up, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “Mother, am I stupid?”

Frigga’s instinct was pull her son into her lap, kiss away his tears, and demand to know who called him stupid so that she could find this person and destroy them. Instead, she said, “The sons of Odin are many things, but unintelligent is not one of them. I think you and your brother are often too intelligent for your own good.” She gave in to her urge to touch him and smoothed down his golden hair. “Why do you ask?”

Thor unwrapped his left arm from his legs and held it out, showing his wrist to her. Written in black were the Words Frigga had known since he was a babe, Words the midwife—practiced in reading the tiny script on newborn infants—had read to Frigga. _Do me a favor_ , it said, _and don’t be dead._

At the time, they had been unable to identify what language it was written in. No language of the Nine Realms was unreadable to Asgard, but this one was not yet spoken. Only recently had it been revealed as the likely evolution of a language currently spoken on Midgard.

“Is the reason why my soulmate is from Midgard because I am too stupid to be worthy of an Asgardian?” Thor asked.

“No,” Frigga said, her voice fervent and stern. She took Thor’s hand in her own, running her thumb across the dark words written on his wrist. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

“Midgardians are primitive and stupid and backwards,” Thor said. “But my Words are in one of their languages. That must mean I am primitive and stupid and backwards, if the other half of my soul is to be found there.”

Frigga knew her son would not admit who put this idea in his head, but considering how few people knew what his wrist said, she had her suspicions. She would have a long talk with her second son later. But first, she needed to assuage the fears of her elder child.

“Do you know that this, the Words of the Soul, are unique to those of us in the Nine Realms?” Frigga asked.

Thor frowned at her, and Frigga could read his confusion in his expression.

“Those who are not part of Yggdrasil,” Frigga continued, “such as the Kree, have no such marks. It is unknown if this is because they do not have soulmates at all or simply because they do not have Yggdrasil to reveal to them the Words written on their soul.

“Every single being in the Nine Realms, whether Asgardian, Vanir, Jotun, or Midgardian, is part of Yggdrasil,” Frigga continued. “We all live within Yggdrasil’s reach. We are all blessed by the shade of Yggdrasil’s branches.”

Thor shook his head, disbelieving, but Frigga held up her hand, stopping him from responding. “My son, do you think I am less than any other Asgardian?”

“What?” he asked, puzzled. “No, you're better!”

“And yet,” Frigga said, “I am not of the Aesir. I am of the Vanir. I grew up on Vanaheim, not in the halls of Asgard.”

“But Vanaheim is not like Midgard,” Thor protested. “Midgardians are stupid.”

“There was a time when the people of Asgard said such things about my people,” Frigga answered.

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“So it seems to you, because you have never known a time when the Aesir and the Vanir were not considered equal,” Frigga said. “The Nine Realms is a place of change, Thor. Things never stay as they are. Yggdrasil moves us all towards greater unity, a greater purpose. It is not ridiculous to imagine that by the time you are of age, and ready to find your soulmate, the people of Midgard will have joined the Aesir and Vanir. And just as when your father took me as his wife, no one will find it odd that a Prince of Asgard is taking a person of Midgard as his spouse in order to strengthen the bonds between Asgard and Midgard.”

Thor’s small forehead furrowed as he studied the words on his wrist. Then he looked up at Frigga with his perfect blue eyes. “You really believe so, Mother?”

“I do,” she answered. “And I believe that any person who is your soulmate will be as intelligent of mind, fierce of spirit, and formidable in heart as you are.”

 

**Middle Class America 1995**

The first information Jane Foster sought out when she accessed the internet for the first time was research on general relativity, which she was having a hard time figuring out based on the books in her small library. The nascent internet was a wonder of information, full of everything from explanations for dummies to carefully-typed-in PhD theses. Most of it was well over Jane’s head, but it was enough to lead her to pepper her school’s physics teacher with questions he wasn’t qualified to answer.

Jane quickly became a fixture at the computers in her local library. Every day after school she raced to the library eager to search for more knowledge.

After she had gotten more information about relativity then she could even begin to process, she carefully switched her research to another area: different languages and alphabets. This she only did when no one else was in the library, and no one might accidentally sneak up behind her to see what she was doing.

Not that it was likely anyone would even understand the Word written on her left wrist if they did see it. Jane didn’t even know anyone who spoke a language other than English, let alone could read whatever exotic language was on her wrist. So Jane researched alone, trying to find what the Word could possibly mean.

Intellectually, Jane had been aware that there were many languages and alphabets in the world. But it wasn’t until she was faced with the task of looking at them all that she truly realized how diverse the world was.

She rejected most Romantic and Asian languages before she even started. The runes on her wrist were very clearly not an alphabet she was familiar with or a pictographic language. She eliminated Cyrillic next, then Arabic.

She wished there was a way to scan her Words and have the computer just figure it out and translate it. She dreamed of a day when computers would be capable of such things. Maybe if she had the resources of Tony Stark, but since she was just a girl from a middle class family in nowhere America…well, at least she knew most languages could be found on in the internet. Unlike her local library.

Even as her searches kept coming up empty, she didn’t lose hope. The internet was still young. It was possible there were still some languages that hadn’t made it into its databases. She would find the answer eventually. Until then, she would be on the lookout for an exotic foreigner who spoke a language she wouldn’t recognize.

Jane doodled on a paper napkin at the dinner table, wondering where her life would take her that she would meet such a person and what the Word on her wrist would even sound like. Would she know the language that her Word was written in when she heard it?

“What is that?”

Jane sat up abruptly, trying to cover the napkin. “What?”

“You were writing.” Her dad’s friend, Erik Selvig, motioned to her napkin from where he sat on her left. Jane’s father and mother were in the other room, getting together the last bit of dinner before bringing it out.

“Oh, it’s just some weird alphabet I saw in a book,” Jane lied. One did not talk about soulmate marks. “I don’t know what it means. I just thought it looked cool.” Jane had often found that old people would believe such superficial rationales when they came from teenagers, and then they wouldn’t ask further questions. Usually.

“Can I see it?”

“I guess?” If she said no, that would just make him more suspicious. Plus, what were the odds that he would connect the letter she had been doodling with her Words?

The scientist took the napkin, looking at the lettering with raised eyebrows. “You thought this was cool?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I can tell you what language it is. It’s Old Norse, the old language of my people,” he said. “It’s no longer spoken--much like Latin in that sense.”

“Oh,” Jane said. A dead language? Her soulmate Words were a dead language? What kind of person spoke a dead language? “That’s cool.”

Her parents came back, and the conversation changed to physics. Normally, Jane wouldn’t be able to help listening in, trying to understand and filing away questions to research later, but for now her brain was stuck on the information Selvig had given her.

Was her soulmate a student of languages? A linguist or an archeologist or some other sort of fake scientist? Or worse…was he a historian? Oh God, she was going to end up with some sort of liberal arts person, wasn’t she?

Dinner finished, and Jane shot up in her seat. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” her mother said, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. Usually Jane never left the table when her father discussed science with his friends.

“Can I get on the internet?”

“Yes,” her mother said. “Just don’t stay on too long, okay? Your grandmother is going to call at nine.” Jane bobbed her head before racing away from the table.

She plopped into the computer chair, turned on the computer and immediately connected it through the internet. She waited impatiently as the computer dialed the phone line, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Come on,” she said. “Hurry up!”

Eventually the computer connected with a ping and “You’ve got mail!” Jane ignored the noise, instead launching Mosaic. In the search bar she typed, “Old Norse.”

Jackpot.

Jane didn’t need to peel off the wristband covering her Word. She had long ago memorized the shape of the lettering. She studied the runes presented to her on screen, grabbing a sheet of paper and translating each rune to its English counterpart.

Of course it gave her a nonsense word, since the Word wasn’t English, but she was then able to type in the English version and find a translation.

“Hammer?” Jane read off the screen in surprise. Hammer?

Why would someone ask her for a tool in a language she didn’t understand?

Jane’s head thumped against the desk. She hadn’t met her future soulmate yet and she was already annoyed with him. This didn’t bode well for her future.


	10. Can A Soul Change?

_And then there is perhaps the greatest mystery of all: Is a person’s soul a fixed element of a person or can a soul change? While no documented cases exist, it seems every country and culture has its own tale of a person who seems to have no soulmate, who spends their entire life thinking they will be alone, only to experience a set of adventures, trials, or challenges after which Words appear on their left wrist. Depending on the culture, the appearance of the Words is variously explained as the hero demonstrating worthiness, earning the right to a soulmate, or challenging the gods or fates. Most historians and anthropologists classify these tales as legends created to serve the patriarchal narrative, but some think otherwise. Are there experiences so traumatic, so challenging that a person’s very soul could be changed?_

**Brooklyn, New York 2015**

Steve had just finished putting sugar in his tea when someone knocked on the door. “Coming,” he called, picking up the warm mug and taking a sip before he padded across the kitchen. It was Sam or Bruce or Stark, coming to check on him. Someone came by every day, as if to double check he hadn’t disappeared back into the search for Bucky.

It still hurt, like a dull ache, that they had called the search off, but Steve wasn’t stupid. He recognized the logic when Natasha presented it to him. “He doesn’t want to be found,” she’d said. “Give him time. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

Steve wanted to believe that, he really did, but in his darkest moments, he feared Bucky would never remember. Or that somehow Steve had hallucinated that it was Bucky who had saved him after the helicarrier crash. And that his best friend was still dead while another man walked around with his face.

The knock at the door came again, this time more insistently.

“Hold your horses, Sa--” Steve’s words died in his mouth when he opened the door.

He dropped the mug, the hot tea splashing unnoticed over his feet.

Bucky.

He looked…he looked good in a pair of dark wash jeans that clung to his legs and a hoodie that stretched tight across his shoulders. His face was clean shaven, its pallor gone, replaced with…well not a tan but he’d clearly gotten some sun. His hair was short again, not quite like it had been back before, but in a modern style.

Bucky was beautiful and alive and here.

Bucky’s metal hand was hidden in his hoodie pocket but he held up his right hand, forestalling any comments from Steve. The other man’s eyes darted up to Steve’s and then settled nervously on his chin.

“Look, just let me talk and don’t say anything, okay, Stevie?” Steve nodded, numbly, shocked into silence by those words. _His Words._ Bucky, newly come back from the dead Bucky, had said his Words.

 _I knew it,_ some part of Steve distantly thought. _I knew it._

“I’m sorry,” Bucky was saying, “I’m sorry about everything. All the things I did to you, that I didn’t remember, that it took me so long, that I…I . . . just for everything, and I…”

Steve shook his head, but he couldn’t find his voice. Bucky had returned. Not the Winter Soldier, not a shell of a man who looked like his best friend, but actual honest-to-God James Buchanan Barnes, Jr who had finally come to Steve’s door and said his Words. Bucky had finally come home.

Bucky kept talking, muttering apologies, as if somehow it was his fault that he was captured and tortured and brainwashed, and no, no, no. Steve couldn’t listen to this anymore.

Steve stepped forward, wrapped his arms wordlessly around his best friend, and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Even after seventy years, he recognized that smell that was singularly Bucky.

God, this was Bucky. Steve’s eyes burned with tears, his grip tightening.

The other man was stiff in his arms, and then he wrapped his right arm around Steve’s shoulders. After a moment, he pulled his left arm out of the pocket, and Steve felt Bucky's metal arm snake around his lower back. Bucky’s lips brushed over Steve’s hair and he spoke, his voice cracking, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Steve shook his head into Bucky’s shoulder, and the other man stiffened, his arms loosening. “Oh…I’ll just…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Bucky tried to disengage himself from Steve, but Steve tightened his arms. “Don’t you dare,” Steve said into the skin of his neck. “Don’t you dare leave me again, James Barnes.”

Steve pulled back just enough to look into Bucky’s confused blue eyes, and God, even after all this time it still threw him for a loop that he had to look down into Bucky’s eyes. He moved one hand to grip Bucky tightly behind the neck, not letting him pull away. “I don’t forgive you, because you have nothing to be forgiven for. You have done nothing wrong. And even if you had, there is nothing you could ever do that I would not forgive you for.”

Bucky shook his head. “You always were an idiot, Rogers.”

Steve snorted. “Please. You were the stupid one.”

Bucky smiled in response, and in that moment, Steve knew they were going to be okay.


	11. Conclusion

**Stark Tower, New York, A Week Later**

Natasha stood on the edge of the room, watching the party.

Tony had gone all out: the bar fully stocked, the music non-stop, a wooden dance floor in the middle of the room, and a silver banner that declared, in glittering red letters, “WELCOME HOME, BUCKY.” All of that plus the New York City skyline made it a red-carpet event.

Then there were the Avengers' A-listers.  In front of the DJ booth—which was mainly running on a playlist Bucky had submitted, to everyone's surprise--Thor and Darcy were “swing dancing,” which Thor seemed to think meant “twirl your partner as much as Asgardianly possible.” At the farthest table from the bar, Jane and Bruce were arguing, scribbling competing calculations on the silver tablecloth with black permanent markers that Tony had given them when Pepper’s back was turned. Two tables away, at the edge of the dance floor,  Sam Wilson was trying to use his “sexy moves” on Maria Hill to lure the stone-faced woman out under the glitter of the disco ball, with no apparent success. Melinda May stood by the bar, actually smiling at some story Rhodey was telling her. Another dozen or so guests filled out the party—not so many that a recovering Soviet assassin might feel uncomfortable but enough that the party seemed alive. They were mostly ex-SHIELD agents, who kept a wary eye on the exits, despite Tony’ assurances that the Tower was safe. A handful danced or chatted at the tables; Natasha recognized a few faces from the Playground including the team May had hand-picked for Coulson.

Natasha sipped her drink as she watched her soulmates swing dance to some 1940s song. Clint moved with a fluidity and ease that couldn’t be taught. Phil, on the other hand, had all the technical skill but an inability to relax and let go. Clint wore threadbare jeans and a purple shirt, while Phil’s only capitulation to Stark’s casual dress code was that he had taken off his jacket and tie. Tony had feigned a heart attack at seeing Phil so “indecently dressed,” which Phil had pretended not to be amused by.

Tony was also on the dance floor, and though his attention was ostensibly on Pepper, he kept glancing over at Phil and Clint as if seeing them dance together was the most unnatural thing he had ever witnessed in his life.

From anyone else, Natasha would have credited his discomfort to homophobia, but with Tony it came down to seeing Phil act like a normal person and Clint do something better than Tony.

Which wasn’t to say that Tony was a bad dancer. Far from it. Tony and Pepper moved around the dance floor like a well-oiled machine, even with Tony’s attention only half on his partner. Natasha half expected Tony to challenge Clint to a dance-off, and said as much to the guest of honor himself.

Barnes snorted. “Well, we’d know who’d lose,” he said, motioning with his Coke to the dance floor.

Natasha pulled her eyes from Clint and Phil to where Barnes was pointing, and well…for a man who could take out a cargo tanker of Algerian mercenaries and make it look like ballet, Steve Rogers was a terrible dancer. He was currently attempting to swing dance with Sharon Carter, and it was a credit to the woman’s torture training that she didn’t wince every five minutes.

“I thought everyone from your era knew how to dance, old man,” Natasha said.

“Always had two left feet.” Barnes shook his head, his expression turning fond as he watched Steve blush and stumble through the dance. “Apparently the serum couldn’t fix a lack of rhythm.”

“Apparently,” Natasha agreed as Steve stepped on Sharon’s feet. Again.

Sharon stopped dancing and grabbed Steve by the shoulders. The music was too loud for Natasha to hear what she was saying, but Steve visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering and an abashed smile touching his face. Sharon nodded and then the two started dancing again, things going much smoother this time.

“That Sharon is a good kid,” Barnes said. “Peggy did right by her.”

Natasha glanced up at the man who had once been the Winter Soldier. It was strange to see the differences between the Soldier and Bucky Barnes. In theory, they were the same person: the man who had taught her to throw a knife, taken her on her first op, and showed her how to fix a dislocated shoulder by demonstrating on himself. But as much time as she’d spent with him, she’d never known the man behind the Winter Soldier codename. He had truly been a ghost. Until now.

The music suddenly changed, the big band instruments disappearing into synthesized beats and Ke$ha's youthful vocals. Phil and Pepper both abruptly stopped dancing, disengaging themselves from their partners and fleeing for the edges of the dance floor. Clint smiled and stole Darcy from Thor, and Tony just started dancing by himself where he was with an expression that said, “I’m hot and I know it.”

Thor, finding himself without a dance partner, rescued Sharon. The Asgardian was fairly adept at modern dancing, something Natasha attributed to Darcy, since Jane was still arguing over differential equations with Bruce.

Steve, free of a partner, shrugged and headed towards Barnes and Natasha. Barnes smiled, and God help him, Steve Rogers blushed.

Natasha looked between her mentor and her friend with raised eyebrows. Well, wasn’t that interesting.

“Hell no, Rogers! You’re not getting out of this!” Sam Wilson grabbed Steve and pulled him out onto the dance floor.  “Come on! Dance!”

Sam began to dance with no small skill, especially in comparison to Steve's laughter-interrupted attempts to imitate his moves. It was completely and utterly ridiculous, and Natasha found herself smiling.

At least until she heard the crunch of metal.

She looked over at Barnes. His Coke can was crushed in his right hand, a scowl contorting his otherwise handsome face as he watched Sam and Steve.

On the dance floor, Steve attempted to pop-and-lock. Sam broke into a gale of laughter and had to steady himself with one hand on Steve’s broad shoulders.

“I need some air,” Barnes said, too loudly. He set his demolished Coke can on the table and then headed toward the balcony.

Natasha hesitated, glancing back at the party. Clint was bumping and grinding with Darcy, a ridiculous smile on his face, while Phil and Pepper were peering at Pepper’s phone with equally serious expressions, obviously breaking Tony’s “no work” rule. No one at the moment seemed to need Natasha, so she would be safe following Barnes.

Then the music changed to a beat Natasha recognized, and she froze. Barnes was important to Natasha, but some things…some things were more important.

_I’m gonna love ya,_   
_Until you hate me_   
_And I’m gonna show ya_   
_What’s really crazy_

Natasha turned to the dance floor. Clint stood in the center, his body poised and sniper-still except for his eyes which tracked her. He smiled, his arm extending, and then he crooked his fingers. _Come_.

She crossed the room, pulled by the electric current of Clint’s gaze, barely aware of Thor drawing Darcy out of her way. As soon as she was within Clint’s reach, she flowed into his arms. They had sparred together, fought beside each other, bled into each other’s hands more times than either cared to count; when they moved, they moved with one body, a hypnotic flashing of feet and hips and intent gazes.

_You should’ve known better_   
_Than to mess with me, honey_   
_I’m gonna love ya, I’m gonna love ya_

“Hot damn,” Sam said from somewhere nearby.

“I’m so turned on right now,” Darcy responded.

“Someone get me some bleach,” Tony exclaimed. “I’m gonna need to scour my brain after this.”

Natasha ground against Clint’s body and only spared one glance for someone on the sidelines. Phil’s expression was smug and proprietary and only for them.

_Gonna love ya, gonna love ya  
Like a black widow, baby_

***

Bucky stalked to the balcony’s edge and tightly gripped the railing, scowling at the New York City skyline.

He vaguely remembered that before the war he had loved parties. Not just that, he had loved finding the cutest girls for himself and their best friends for Steve. He’d never wanted to rip a woman apart for dancing with Steve, smiling at Steve, or flirting with Steve.

God, what was wrong with him?

“Bucky?” He turned at the sound of Steve’s voice. The man stood in the doorway, the setting sun glinting off his golden hair. The light seared into Bucky’s eyes and he had to look away. “You okay?”

“Fine, Steve, just the party, you know…” He shrugged helplessly. Words didn’t come easily to him anymore, not like before. Too much time not being allowed to talk, Bucky supposed. No one cared what the Winter Soldier’s opinion was. They’d just wanted him to do what he was told.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said, his voice closer. Bucky forced his shoulders to relax. It was Steve behind him, not an enemy; his back wasn’t vulnerable.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Bucky said. “You don’t need to mollycoddle me.”

“I’m not mollycoddling you, jerk. I just…I want to be with you. The party or the balcony, I don’t care.”

Bucky shook his head. “You should be in there with your friends. With _Sam_.” He said the name with more vehemence then he intended.

“Sam?” Steve sounded puzzled. But what could Bucky say? That he remembered it had been Sam who had Steve’s back while Bucky had been trying to kill him? That while he had been spying on Steve, trying to figure out if he was finally ready to come home, he had watched as Sam visited Steve nearly every single day? That every time he heard Sam laugh and saw him slap Steve on the back with ease he wanted to punch a wall? That Bucky was jealous of his best friend’s boyfriend?

“Well, yeah,” Bucky said with a shrug, trying to hide his jealousy in nonchalance. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with me recently, since I came back. And I’m sure he understands that, he seems like a good guy, but he’s gotta be feeling a little neglected.”

“Neglected?” Suddenly Steve was in front of Bucky, the broad swath of his chest directly in his line of sight, and God, Bucky just wanted to bury his face in that chest and never pull away again. “Why would Sam feel neglected?’

“Well, Stevie, classy men like Sam don’t like to be ignored by their best guys,” Bucky said, putting on his most didactic tone, just like when he used to lecture Steve about dames back before the war. “They wanna spend time with them, to be wooed and …”

“Wait, wait, hold up.” Steve raised his hands, as if he could stop Bucky’s words. “Best guy? You think…you think I’m dating Sam?”

“Duh,” Bucky said. “It’s obvious. The way you flirt…”

“Flirt?” Steve’s voice rose an octave. “We do not flirt. There is zero flirting.”

“Right.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Anyway, all I’m saying is, whether you’re tapping that or not, it’s clear…”

“No, no, Bucky, no.” Steve’s big warm hands clasped Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky looked up in surprise. “You can’t think…you can’t think I would want anyone else now that I’ve got you.”

Bucky frowned. Steve wasn’t making sense. “Look, I know I’m not exactly 100% yet, Steve, but I’m not expecting you to give up your love life just to mollycoddle me. So you’re not with Sam, and maybe you don’t want to be. Maybe I’m completely misreading the signs there, but…you can’t just not date because of me. You still have a soulmate out there. You gotta find him, or her.”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “I already have a soulmate.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s heart sank. Yeah, he had figured that. Steve had woken up from the ice and met some dame or guy, and they ended up being his soulmate. He had thought it was Sam, but maybe it was Sharon with her smile like Peggy’s or the dark-haired bombshell that followed Thor’s girlfriend around. “Well, you really shouldn’t be neglecting your soulmate for me.”

“Buck.” Steve’s voice was thick, his eyes blazing with the sincerity that caused so many to follow Captain America into battle. “I’m not neglecting my soulmate for you. _You_ are my soulmate.”

For a moment Bucky just stared at his best friend, and then, “Obviously that seventy years on ice damaged your brain, Stevie.” He stepped back, and Steve’s arms fell away from his shoulders. Bucky held up his metal arm, baring his blank metal wrist for Steve. “You know I don’t have a soulmate.”

"What I _know_ is that in ninety-six years no one, _no one_ , has said my Words to me, except you, Buck, that day you showed up at my door. Those were the first words you said to me since you came back to me, since you broke your brainwashing, since you became _you_ again, and call me crazy, but that means something.”

“What?” Bucky stepped back further, shaking his head. “No. That’s not how it works. I don’t have a soulmate. I don’t.” People didn’t just gain soulmates mid-life, and God damn Steve Rogers for even suggesting it. This was like when they were kids all over again, and Steve was promising to share his soulmate but worse. Before Bucky hadn’t wanted a soulmate. He’d been happy. But now, after he’d spent the better part of the last year wandering, trying to figure out who he was, and discovering he just wanted to be a man that Steve loved again…God damn him.

“You didn’t,” Steve insisted. “Back then you were…you were untouchable, Bucky. It was like your Ma said, you were special. You didn’t need anyone. Yeah you took care of me, and your sister, and your parents, but you didn’t need anyone to take care of you. You were solitary and perfect. But now…you’re different.”

“Not perfect,” Bucky said, looking down at his arm.

“No, I’m not…I’m not saying this right.” Steve turned partly away from Bucky, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just…” Steve looked up at the sky, as if he could find answers in the striations of color created by the disappearing sun. “You were always it for me. You didn’t know that. Hell, I don’t think I realized it. But no one, no dame or guy could compare to you. You were just…” He shook his head. “You _are_ everything to me.”

Bucky shook his head. “Steve, this is just … no. You can’t…I don’t have a soulmate. But you do. Someday some dame or guy is gonna say those Words on your wrist to you, and that person is gonna be amazing, and beautiful, and smart, and worthy of you.”

“Buck, you’re all those things.” Steve turned back to him, but Bucky looked away, unable to meet his earnest gaze.

“No, Stevie, I’m not.” Bucky sighed.  “Look, this isn’t…I'm not Hercules. Being the Winter Soldier wasn’t some trial that cleansed my soul. I’m not suddenly someone’s soulmate….”

“You said my Words, Buck!”

“Did you ever think I did that to manipulate you?” Bucky snapped. “God, Stevie, if I really said your Words you shouldn’t’ve let me in.” It was the exact sort of thing the Winter Soldier often did. Learn someone’s Words before talking to them, so that they would be trusted.

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head, his expression stern. “You weren’t there to kill me. You came home. Of course I let you in…”

Bucky growled in frustration, turning away from Steve and running his right hand through his hair. God, how had Bucky thought he was getting better? Sure, he hadn’t intentionally said Steve’s Words, not like would have when he was the Winter Soldier, but he had wanted so badly to be let in. Had he subconsciously chosen those words to manipulate Steve? Knowing they would soften Steve? If the other man thought Bucky was his soulmate, then of course he would forgive him.

Shame rolled through Bucky’s stomach. He didn’t deserve Steve.

He never had.

“I’m not…I’m not your soulmate, Steve. I have no soulmate. I just…I’m not.” Bucky shook his head. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what had gotten this stupid idea into Steve’s dumb head, and he didn’t know what to say to get it out.

Silence. Then Bucky felt a warm hand touch his shoulder, feather-light and soft.  “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

Bucky turned, looking at Steve. “Say what?”

“I never deserved you,” Steve said.

“What? _You_ never deserved _me_?”

“You were so…full of life. So perfect and beautiful and untouchable. Like…like the sun. You were always destined for great things. Always. And you didn’t need me. You never did.” Steve shook his head, dropping his hand from Bucky’s back. “I just…”

And now it was Steve who turned his back to Bucky. “No, never mind. I’m sorry, Buck. You were right. You’re always right. I’m just being stupid and selfish. You don’t…It’s just…” He shook his head and slid his hands into his pockets, his shoulder hunching forward, over 200 pounds of man managing to dissolve into a skinny punk from Brooklyn. Then before dejection could take over, his chin jutted out in that patented Steve “I’m a stupid idiot who’s gonna do what I want no matter what you say” Rogers way.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m not your soulmate.”

Bucky blinked. That hadn’t been what he’d expecting. Stubborn Steven Rogers did not surrender a fight.

“But,” Steve said, and Bucky nearly smiled because that was more like it. There was always a “but” with Steve. “ _You_ are _my_ soulmate.”

“Steve,” Bucky said. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Nothing in our whole goddam lives has made sense, Buck,” Steve answered, and Bucky’s amusement burned away in the fire of Steve’s blue eyes. “Not my mom dying before her time, or the war, or the serum, or you falling off that train instead of me, or what HYDRA did to you, or fucking aliens from space. None of it makes a damn bit of sense, but loving you? That has always, _always_ made sense to me.

“I never said it before because you never needed me the same way, and if you still don’t love me… well, that’s fine, Buck. But you know what? I love you. And I won’t stop. Not ever.”

Bucky stared at the punk before him, disbelieving. It had been ninety-six years and Steve Rogers had not changed a bit. He was still that same punk kid who thought he didn’t need anyone, even as Bucky pulled him out of fights and forced meds down his throat. That punk kid who had insisted he could live on his own after his mother died. God, Stevie had needed Bucky just to survive day to day, and yet he had insisted he could do it all on his own.

And Steve was right. Bucky hadn’t needed Steve, not like that.

No, Bucky Barnes hadn’t needed Steve Rogers in his life.

He had wanted him there.

And he still wanted Steve here.

He turned to Steve, studying the other man. The strong line of his jaw, always set so stubbornly and in complete counter to the dejected slump of his shoulders. His golden hair, turned to fire by the setting sun. The fact that his shirt was at least two sizes too small, probably because he still didn’t understand how big he was now. He was such a stupid stubborn punk of a man, and Bucky was so in love with him.  

The music floating in from the party suddenly changed to a slow sweet song, distracting Bucky. “I know this song.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, turning partially away from Bucky and back towards the balcony door. “It was your favorite before.”

Bucky stood silently, listening to a trumpet croon a melody until it gave away to a sultry alto.

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice_   
_Then kiss me once again_   
_It’s been a long, long time_

“Look, Bucky,” Steve said, his expression pained. “You know I’m not gonna...you know I don’t expect anything from you, right? I would never force you to…”

“Yes, Stevie, I know,” Bucky said, because he did know. Steve would never force himself where his affections were unwanted. Steve would back off if Bucky asked him to.

But Bucky didn’t want him to back off. “I love you, punk.”

_Haven’t felt like this, my dear_   
_Since I can’t remember when_   
_It’s been a long, long time_

“Jerk,” Steve said automatically, followed very quickly by a startled, “What?”

Bucky took advantage of Steve’s confusion, closing the space between them. He took ahold of Steve’s waist with his left hand, pulling the man proprietarily close. Then he moved his right hand to the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads were touching.

_You’ll never know how many dreams_   
_I’ve dreamed about you_   
_Or just how empty they all seemed without you_

Steve’s hands settled on Bucky’s waist, loose and uncertain. “Buck…”

“I love you,” Bucky repeated, cutting Steve off. “I don’t know if I’m your soulmate or not, but I do know I love you. And I don’t want to live without you. I’m with you, Stevie, to the end of the line.”

“To the end of the line,” Steve echoed.

_So kiss me once, then kiss me twice_   
_Then kiss me once again_   
_It’s been a long, long time_

Bucky decided there had been enough words, and he pressed his lips to Steve’s. For a moment Steve was still, his lips not responding to the pressure of Bucky’s, then the man surged forward, pulling Bucky’s hips flush with his own and slipping his tongue into Bucky’s mouth.

In that moment Bucky was both lost and found, unmoored in the heat of Steve’s mouth and grounded by the strength of his arms. And Bucky knew he would take Steve Rogers for as long as the other man was willing to have him, whether it was a week or forever.

_So kiss me once, then kiss me twice_   
_Then kiss me once again_   
_It’s been a long, long time_

***

When Tony Stark glanced out the balcony window and saw two American heroes making out, he metaphorically patted himself on the back.

Tony knew most people thought he was dense and self-absorbed and okay maybe that was mostly true, but a blind man could’ve seen the waves of sexual tension coming off of Bucky and Steve. So when the two escaped to the balcony and Steve’s face went into full “stubborn kicked dog” mode, Tony had decided maybe they just needed the perfect song to put them in the mood.

As usual, Tony had been right.

Except as he watched Captain America continue to suck face with the former Winter Soldier, his stomach began to turn and no. He had meant to get them to admit they were crazy for each other, not for them to have sex on his porch, and he needed a surefire mood killer.

Tony selected a different song from his phone and suddenly Taylor Swift was declaring, “ _I stay out too late! Got nothing in my brain!”_

“Yes! This is my jam!” Darcy’s exclamation distracted Tony away from the balcony. The girl began to dance, full Taylor Swift mode. She was so adorable in her star-spangled tights and Captain America shirt, and…

ADORABLE? Had he just thought of a curvaceous twenty something as an _adorable_ little girl?

Was this…was this character growth?

Pepper nudged him, having used one of her more impressive superpowers—the ability to walk silently in dress shoes—to sneak up on him. “You look like you just swallowed something horrible,” she said.

“I think I’m growing as a person,” Tony answered, and Pepper laughed. Not her usual huff of amusement or chuckle hidden behind a hand, but a full on peal of laughter.

Tony turned to her, taking in the crinkle around her eyes, the curve of her throat, and the way she was clutching her stomach. She reached out with one arm to steady herself on him, and he instinctually put an arm around her shoulders even though he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

Eventually her laughter sputtered out and she looked up at Tony, her face shining. “I love you so much.”

She did, he knew it. She loved him enough to stick with him through his anxiety attacks, through obsessing over his suits, and even through Extremis. She loved him, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why someone as beautiful and competent and put together as her would love him, and every day he was so God damn grateful she did.

He put his arm around her, drawing her in tight and kissing her temple. Then he looked out on the dance floor.

The supersoldiers were back inside—thank God—and were staring as if they weren’t quite sure what was happening. All the partiers except them, Tony, and Pepper were on the dance floor. Literally. All of them.

Every SHIELD agent was “shaking it off” with varying levels of skill, none as well as Melinda May who—WAS SHE SMILING? Tony hadn’t even known her face was capable of making that expression. Darcy had pulled Bruce onto the dance floor, both of them doing the sprinkler without shame. Jane’s head was thrown back with laughter as she attempted to dance, while Thor replicated everything she did like a goofball. Sam had finally gotten Maria on the dance floor, and thank God someone out there had a sense of rhythm because Tony was ashamed to be seen with the rest of them.  

Birdbrain and Natasha were grinding around Agent like he was the sexiest thing alive and OH MY GOD SOMEONE GET HIM BLEACH. Seriously. He was going to have nightmares about their love life.

Then Bucky and Steve joined in, grinning brightly as they imitated the horrible dance moves around them.

“You realize these are the people standing between this world and complete destruction,” Tony commented to Pepper. “And they’re all dorks.”

“Hmm,” Pepper said. “Takes one to know one.”

“I…what?” But then Pepper was pulling him onto the dance floor, flashing that perfectly brilliant smile of hers and Tony was so fucked. He would dance to this ridiculous teeny-bopper song if it was what she wanted and he would’ve even care.

Because he loved her.

God help him, he loved them all.

 

_In a world where we all know our soulmate, that one person destined to be the other half of our soul, one would think love would be easy. But in the end, if this study has proved anything to me, it’s that Shakespeare was right when he said, “The course of true love never did run smooth.”_

_A few Words on our wrists cannot magically fix our lives. A lack of Words does not mean a relationship cannot be meaningful._

_In the end, love is and always will be a choice._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three songs referenced in this chapter are Iggy Azelea's "Black Widow", "It's Been a Long Long Time" (as heard in the Captain America 2 soundtrack), and Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off".
> 
> And that's it! That's the end! Thank you so much for the kudos and encouragement along the way. I hope you all enjoyed the end. Thank you for joining me on this adventures, exploring the whole concept of the soulmate AU. 
> 
> I really can't thank [coriolana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coriolana) enough for all her help with this fic. You guys without her this fic wouldn't even be close to good and seriously this entire last chapter? She made me re-write it like three times and you should be glad she did because it's SO MUCH BETTER NOW so I guess what I'm saying is you guys should give her all the kudos too. 
> 
> So coriolana put together [Bucky's Awesome Party Mix](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq_k4QEmuIqvM0PSVQEFkXsAw523SYMUw) and you should totally listen to it. 
> 
> As usual you guys can find me on [tumblr](http://mandyp12.tumblr.com).


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